Chronicles of Arendelle
by EmzKoester
Summary: Adventures in Arendelle before the time of Elsa and Anna.
1. The Ice Lord- A Stranger in Arendelle

**Author's Note:**

**This is fanfiction inspired by Disney's Frozen (a truly incredible movie!) that takes place several years before the story told by the film.**

**I've never written fanfiction before. I hope this turns out well, but if not, oh well! I'm doing this all for fun, so enjoy! Do comment and give suggestions and reviews. I would love feedback on what I can do better in my writing. **

**I couldn't find given names for the king and queen of Arendelle, so I just put in my own. They are Scandinavian-based, as are most of the characters in the movie (except Anna. That's Hebrew).**

Chapter 1

The cobblestoned streets of Arendelle were white under a layer of freshly fallen snow. The winter had come much earlier than expected. After all, it was only October. As expected, the streets were mainly empty, with the exception of an occasional figure, hunkered against the chilly wind, fighting toward warmth. Arendelle had not seen weather like this in many years.

One figure walked down the road alone, a dark blue cloak draped lightly over his shoulders. He strode gracefully and upright, as if the cold didn't even bother him, and the snow crunched softly under his boots. A sturdy walking stick was in his left hand, but he was not really using it, just carrying it along with him, as he made his way toward a frantically swinging sign that read: _Prancing Caribou Inn_.

Pressing his weight against the door to open it, the stranger entered. The inn was packed full of people trying to escape the early winter chill, and every stool was taken. The man went up to the bartender and tossed a few coins on the counter.

"A room," he said, his voice smooth and deep.

"Ah, that's no good, I'm afraid, my friend," replied the bartender with a sympathetic smile. "You see, all our rooms are full tonight. There is a celebratory ball tomorrow, that's why all of these people are here. The King and Queen are announcing the good news."

"News?"

"Not from around here, then, I take it?"

"No," the stranger shook his head.

The bartender waited for him to continue, but he did not.

"Well, the Queen is pregnant!" he said, breaking into a wide grin. "That's what the ball is about, you see."

"Ah," said the stranger, seemingly uninterested. But in his eyes, something flashed. "Well, I will still need a place to stay."

"Try the _Kettle-Drum_. It's a few streets down. Not as roomy as my own establishment, I dare say, but it'll get the job done," the bartender smiled again and said, "Sorry."

Without a word, the stranger whirled his cloak around him and walked out the door.

He stood in the street, the snow creaking beneath him and his breath turning to steam as it left his mouth. The stranger stared up at the castle looming above the town. A rare smile creased his face, and he turned and walked off toward the _Kettle-Drum Inn._


	2. The Ice Lord- Freja

Chapter 2

Freja stood in front of her mirror. She was wearing a beautiful turquoise dress. Her favorite. And her husband's favorite. She smiled as she turned, watching her reflection. But it wasn't the dress she was looking at. She placed her small hands on her stomach, forming her fingers into a heart. She was not very far along, but the queen had a slight bulge that was just starting to show. Freja stroked her stomach and hummed softly.

A small flutter inside her made her jump. It was the first time she had felt the baby move! Pressing her hands more firmly on her stomach, Freja laughed aloud. Oh, how excited she was for this baby!

Behind her, the door opened and her husband, the king, walked in.

"Stellan! Come here, quick!"

He was at her side in seconds, his face full of worry until he saw her radiating smile. Then the king grinned, too, that silly, half-way smile that Freja loved so much. She took his hand in hers and pressed it against her abdomen. When Stellan's eyes widened with surprise, the queen laughed.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, "That's amazing!"

"I know, isn't it?" Freja said, clasping his hand in hers and bouncing up and down. "We need to start thinking of names, soon! Oh, and the nursery, we can't forget the nursery! What color should we have it painted, do you think? I'm thinking blue, and maybe pink!"

"Pink? How do you know it's a girl?"

"Oh, she's a girl all right!" Freja said, placing a hand on her stomach. "I know it!"

Stellan smiled at that. He knew there was no sense in arguing.

"Fine, then," he smirked, "We can name her Stella."

Freja glared at him, teasingly.

"Can you even imaging how confusing that would be when I was calling you both? Stellan, Stella, Stella, Stellan. Nope," she shook her head, and her brunette hair waved over her shoulders.

Stellan placed his hands on her hips and kissed her softly on the forehead.

"Well, then, your majesty, what name would you suggest?"

Freja smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I like Elsa."


	3. The Ice Lord- The Ball Begins

Chapter 3

The evening of the ball arrived and men and women dressed in elegant clothes paraded into the castle. The sun had graced Arendelle with its presence earlier that day, and the sky was now awake and clear, with the Northern Lights painting shimmering purples, pinks and greens across the blue-black expanse. The grand ballroom was filled with music and light, and Freja laughed giddily as she took turns dancing with her guests. She had never felt so alive!

Stellan approached and relieved Freja from the uncoordinated dance moves of a tiny, gray-haired man, a duke of some sort, if she remembered correctly. All that she could think was that he looked rather like a chicken, strutting circles around her and leaping ungracefully into the air, flapping his arms. Her husband stifled a laugh and tapped the duke on the shoulder.

"May I steal my queen for a dance, sir?"

The duke looked flabbergasted and exhausted.

"Why, your majesty! Of course, of course! And might I just say, I am honored that Weselton has become such close trade partners with Arendelle. Our partnership with last for generations, I am quite sure…" he rambled on for a bit more, and Freja smiled at her husband. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

"Yes, well…" said Stellan, cutting of the duke abruptly, "Very nice to see you again. Now if you'll excuse us. Have a lovely evening!" And he whisked the queen away, chuckling.

Freja's breath caught for a split second as Stellan twirled her around and began to dance. He was not very good at it, she knew, and didn't often dance in public.

"Stellan," she whispered in his ear, "You're dancing!"

"Well, I wasn't going to let every other man in this place twirl you around and not get a turn myself," the king grinned.

Freja laughed and pressed her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. They floated in circles around the ball room, completely absorbed in each other, and when the song had closed, the stood still, holding one another.

A bony finger tapped Stellan's shoulder and made him release Freja and turn. Behind him was a tall man in a dark blue cloak, carrying a beautifully carved walking stick.

"Sire," he said is a deep, smooth voice, "Do allow me to introduce myself! My name is Edvard Beteran."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Beteran," said the king, politely. He motioned to Freja, "This is my wife, Queen…"

"Ah, yes, yes, your highness, Queen Freja!" interrupted Edvard, "The townsfolk say absolutely lovely things about you."

Freja forced a smile. Something about this man made her wary. Something she could not quite place.

"And I wish you every joy, all three of you!" the stranger continued. He knelt down and placed an ice cold hand on Freja's stomach. Freja felt her breath quicken, but before she had time to pull away, Edvard had stood up again and was talking in a friendly manner to Stellan.

Maybe she had just imagined it, Freja thought. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. With all the excitement and hormones coursing through her, she wouldn't be surprised.

The musicians started playing a new song.

"M'lady," spoke Edvard, "If you do not have a partner for this dance, may I be the first to volunteer?"

Freja gulped and smiled, placing her hand in Edvard's and glancing sideways at Stellan. The king nodded. The queen took a deep breath, working hard to conceal all the strange emotions that were welling up inside.


	4. The Ice Lord- Memories

Chapter 4

Edvard hung his walking stick in the crook of his elbow and twirled her around. He was a very good dancer, Freja noticed, much better than Stellan, anyways. Although that was not hard. He appropriately kept her at arm's length.

They danced silently for a few minutes.

"So, your highness. Do you have any names picked for the child yet?"

"No," Freja lied.

"None at all? I've always liked the name Finley. It works for either a boy or girl."

Something sparked in Freya's memory at that name. She looked into Edvard's eyes, as her own widened. Of all the names he could have mentioned…

"You don't like it, do you?" Edvard said.

"No, well… I don't know. It just reminds me of someone I…"

"Ah, bad memories?"

Freja nodded cautiously.

Edvard's eyes narrowed. He clasped the queen's hand tightly in his, and her breath froze in her throat.

"You don't remember me at all, do you, your highness?"

Freja clamped her mouth shut. Those eyes, bright and golden, like the color of wheat, bore into her. Those eyes… they were so familiar…

"Finn?" she squeaked. She felt the room starting to spin. He squeezed her wrist tighter and she felt her pulse pounding in her palm. But other than that, she felt completely numb.

Edvard leaned in close to her face.

"So you do remember me? Hello, my dear Freja…"

Black spots appeared in her vision, growing and multiplying, until she couldn't see. With a soft gasp, Freja crumpled to the floor.

* * *

"Freja! Freja!" a voice was calling to her. Freja opened her eyes. She was in her room. Wait… no. She sat up and blinked. It _was_ her room, but not her room in Arendelle. She looked at a mirror that hung on the wall next to her and saw a sixteen-year-old version of herself staring back.

"Freja!" the voice came again from outside the door, "Wake up! You've missed breakfast again!"

"Primrose?" Freja called.

"Who did you think it was?"

The door opened and a girl came in. She was a few years older than sixteen-year-old Freja and looked very much like her.

"Seriously, Freja. You're still in your nightgown! Mother is not going to be happy."

Primrose looked at her little sister, her eyes suddenly becoming worried. She placed a warm hand on Freja's arm."

"What's the matter?"

"I … I don't know… nothing, I guess."

Her sister watched her for another minute, then shrugged.

"Well, hurry up and get dressed. Everyone in Corona is coming to the ball tonight. There's a lot to do!"

Suddenly she was gone. Freja blinked, and suddenly she was dressed and standing by the open window, looking down into the courtyard. Below her, a teenage boy held out a rose crafted out of solid ice, grinning from ear to ear. And Freja smiled back.

"Finn!" she called, "It's lovely!"

She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming, then motioned for the boy to climb up the vines that draped down the window. He willingly obliged. Swinging his leg over the window pane, he tossed the rose onto a nearby chair, grabbed Freja around the waist, and kissed her full on the mouth.

Giggling, Freja pulled back to look at the boy's face.

She screamed.

Edvard towered over her, his walking stick propped on his shoulder. His icy hands closed over the back of her neck.

* * *

Freja sat up, gasping for air and flailing her arms. She hit someone in what felt like a jaw, and whimpered.

"Freja!" came a voice, and she felt tears welling up. She struck out again, her eyes shut tightly.

"Freja!" said Stellan, "Wake up! Calm down!"

Her eyes popped open and she struggled to focus, but she recognized Stellan's face about a foot away from hers. She gasped and shuddered, grabbing him and pressing her face to his chest. His arms wrapped around her and she breathed into him."

"You fainted, Freja. Are you okay?"

Freja sat back and wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. She wiped her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't respond. Looking around, she saw that they were in an isolated hall connected to the ballroom. The door was ajar and Freja could just see a crowd of guests circled around a lone figure in a blue cloak.

"Edvard," she whispered.

"Yes, he was quite heroic actually. He carried you off the dance floor. Turns out, that's not all. He's also a magician. Kai must have invited him as an entertainer. He offered to distract the guests while you recovered."

Edvard smiling brilliantly as the crowd applauded. Then he raised his hands and wove them, and a beautiful ice chandelier emerged from the ceiling.


	5. The Ice Lord- Vengence

**Author's Note:**

**I have just written 5 chapter (granted, very short chapters) in 1 day! Thank you for everyone who started following ****Freja's Daughters****. And thanks, those of you who left reviews. They were very encouraging! Do continue to comment and review. It motivates me a lot! :)**

Chapter 5

Three days had passed since the ball, and Freja's nerves had more or less calmed. She had neither seen or heard from Edvard, or Finley… she wasn't sure just what to call him… since the night they had danced, and was starting to imagine the whole thing was just an uncomfortable coincidence. Maybe Kai had put him on the guest list as an entertainer. Freja knew for a fact that he could perform to fit the role.

He could do much more than that.

Sitting in her library by the fire, clutching a blanket around her changing body, the queen shivered. Just thinking about the romance of her youth made unpleasant goosebumps rise all over her arms and neck. She still hadn't told Stellan about the "magician." Heaven knew he would not take it well. Edvard would probably be kicked out of Arendelle, or imprisoned. The thought of that did make Freja feel relieved, but what had he done wrong? What if he was just as surprised to see her, and simply asked her to dance for old time's sake?

The queen leaned her head back on her chair and closed her eyes, her hands subconsciously tracing the bulge on her abdomen. Oh, why did she ever have to fall for Finn, all those years ago? Everything would have been so much simpler.

But she did remember why. She remembered the blonde haired little servant boy, just her age, accidentally dropping a pitcher of tea on her at the dinner table. She remembered how his mother, the cook, had swatted him so hard that tears welled up in his golden eyes. She remembered their private meets under the willow tree in the garden, where he showed her his secret. Waving his hand, he had conjured a small pile of snow at the tree trunk's base. Snow! In the middle of summer! Freja had thought it was beautiful, and had grabbed a handful and thrown it lightly in his face.

She remembered, on her sixteenth birthday, when he had first kissed her, and she remembered how cool is skin was.

She remembered their plan. Elope, live in the mountains in a log cabin, have a few kids. Her sister, Primrose, was to be queen of Corona anyways. Why did it matter that she left?

She remembered the day when her parents held a ball and invited all the princes from the surrounding kingdoms, hoping that someone would strike her fancy. Little did they know their daughter was already smitten, batting her eyelashes at the young man organizing the fruit table, subtly refreshing the ice sculpted swan that stood there.

That was where the memories of Finn stopped. Freja scrunched her eyes tightly and tried to remember why. Oh… that's right.

The handsome young prince from Arendelle had walked through the door, looking completely confused. She had watched as he turned down offers to dance from the other girls, even from Prim. Then his eyes had fixed on her. He had walked toward her and asked _her_ to dance. Her! Out of everyone at the party that night. And she had accepted, her head light and her face blushed and smiling. He had been an absolutely horrible dancer, but she hadn't cared.

And she had forgot all about the servant boy standing by the ice swan, watching with jealous eyes as she and the prince waltzed across the ballroom.

Freja startled as the door to the library opened, and her eyes blinked open. She turned, expecting Stellan to be standing there. She would tell him now. She really would. She didn't care how embarrassed it would make her, Freja just wanted this weight off of her.

Standing in front of her, leaning casually on his walking stick, stood Finn. Freja's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out.

"Hello, again, Freja."

"Finn," she replied, pleadingly.

He slammed his stick against the wooden floor, and she jumped.

"_Don't_…" he said, "Don't call me that."

Freja took a deep breath. If she was going to face this, she was going to have to calm down. She had nothing to fear from this man.

"But that's your name, isn't it? How did you even get in here?" she raised an eyebrow.

"My _name_ is Edvard. Edvard _Finley _Beteran. Of course, you wouldn't remember that was my full name. You hardly recognize me, don't you?"

It was true, Freja thought. He had changed so much from the boy she once knew. His eyes were the same color, and his hair was still platinum blonde, but his face was fierce and a thin scar ran from the bridge of his nose to his ear. In truth, if he hadn't hinted at his name during the dance three nights ago, she probably would still be wondering who he was.

"Do you have any idea what you did to me," Edvard growled, "Any idea at all what I have been through for _your sake_?"

Freja swallowed. This was not going well.

"Finn, listen."

"YOU LISTEN TO ME!" he yelled, his eyes flashing. "I went to prison for you! We were supposed to meet after that ball, all those years ago and run away together! Well, I was there! I was waiting for you with all the supplies I had stolen from the castle and the kitchen, and _your_ horse and _your_ bag of clothes. And when the time came when we were supposed to meet, YOU WEREN'T THERE!Why weren't you there? Because you were still up in the ballroom, having a grand old time with your new prince charming!"

Freja had backed up against the bookshelves by the fireplace. She looked down and saw the fire stoker lying at her feet, the end of it red hot. Only if worst came to worst, she promised herself.

"Finn, please," she said, trying her hardest to keep the tears from flowing. "If you love me still, after all this time, won't you respect me enough to…"

"LOVE YOU? Oh, Freja, you are so naïve. You think I would love you after rotting in prison for you for three years. No, your highness. I don't love you. I'm not sure I ever did. But now? Now I _loath _you!"

With a squeal of terror, Freja grappled along the ground, clutching the cool end of the fire stoker and brandishing it at her assailant.

Edvard smirked. He shot out his hand and the metal rod dropped out of Freja's hand, encased in a solid block of ice. The queen pressed her hands against her stomach. Her heart pounded as she felt a soft kick.

"_Please!_ Don't hurt her!"

Edvard's eyes showed no emotion. Nothing with the exception of hatred. He raised his hand again, and everything went black.


	6. The Ice Lord- Abducted

**Author's Note:**

**Again, thanks to everyone who has been reading my story. I have been greatly enjoying writing it. Please bear with me. This is were I usually start getting blocked. :) Do continue to post reviews! I love hearing feedback!**

Chapter 6

Freja's head throbbed. She was surrounded only by a deep darkness, and was confused until she realized that her eyes were closed. She didn't open them. She was afraid to. Reaching a hand cautiously up to her head, she rubbed her temple, wincing. The spot felt raw and very cold. Ice cold. Gradually, she opened her eyes, trying hard to focus. Everything was blurry. There was little light, only a faint bluish glow that radiated from a strange lantern high above her head.

She sat on a cold stone floor. Her purple dress was draped stiffly behind her, and her hair, which had been in a single, long braid, was frizzy and frayed. She looked down at the braid resting on her chest and her mouth fell open in surprise. A section of her hair had turned… white? She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. What on earth was happening to her?

In a flash, she remembered Edvard standing in front of her in the library. Freja jumped up and looked around the strange room. Aside from the lantern, there was nothing. Nothing at all. No door, no windows, no furniture. The air was stale and freezing.

"Is this a prison?" she wondered aloud. She felt the baby kick in her stomach and clutched at it.

A creaking sound filled the room, echoing off the walls. A chandelier was sprouting from the ceiling, made completely of ice. Freja stared at it. It was just like the one Edvard had conjured that night in the ballroom.

The queen imagined Edvard twirling his cloak over his shoulder and carrying her limp body out of her home. Had anyone tried to stop him? Had anyone even seen him? Had Stellan discovered that she was gone yet?

"HELP!" Freja screamed, pounding her fist against the icy stone wall. But there was no sound.

"PLEASE! STELLAN! SOMEONE! HELP ME!" She was growing panicked. She had to calm down. But her breath came in quick gasps and she could feel her entire body quivering like a flag on a stormy day.

Suddenly, a shaft of light appeared above her, casting a white circle on the stone floor. A spiraling staircase crept it way down toward her, crackling into existence. Before it had touched the ground, Edvard strode gracefully down it. He smiled at her.

"Ah, my dear Freja."

"Edvard, you let me go this instant, or so help me I'll…"

"You'll what? What power do _you_ of all people have to stop me? To stop this winter that I am going to rain down on your adorable little kingdom?"

"What are you talking about? You can't control winter."

Edvard looked quite amused.

"You want a bet?"

He waved a hand in a casual circle around his head. Without a sound, snow began to fall inside the tiny stone room. Freja shivered as snow stuck to her hair and her arms. The temperature was dropping rapidly and the room seemed to spin as the wind picked up, spiraling the snow like a miniature white twister. The queen covered her face with her arms. She was ankle-deep in it now.

Edvard smiled wickedly at her through the white-out.

"You see," he said, as the storm started to die down, "I am actually quite capable, no matter what you think of me. I will turn Arendelle into the next Atlantis! I will bury her under glaciers! I will freeze her until all that remains is you! Then I will come back, and if you are still alive, I will take you down to see your precious kingdom!"

Freja had forgotten all about her fear. She stomped forward and looked Edvard square in the face.

"How DARE you threaten my people! How DARE you kidnap me and keep me here!" her face softened, but only slightly, "You would do all this, you would kill hundreds of innocent people, children, to get back at me? To hurt me like I hurt you? Well, _Finn_, I'll say it. And please, _please_ believe me when I do. I am _sorry!_ I am sooo sorry, Finn! Please, please don't become a monster, a murderer, because of my mistake. Please forgive me!"

Edvard stared at her for several minutes. His silence was even more unnerving that his shouting. Then he laughed, and that was even worse.

"You think… I am here because of your 'mistake'? I am here for Arendelle. Although it was also motivating that you were here, too, Arendelle is my main concern for the moment. It's the perfect place to wipe clean and start again. To raise up my strength and my forces until I can move on!"

"Forces?" Freja echoed. She did not like the sound of that at all.

"Of course! No ruler can become a conqueror without an army, can he, my dear?"

"No one in Arendelle with surrender to you. No one will join your army!"

"Oh, I already know that. That won't be a problem." Edvard grinned cruelly.

Suddenly Freja shivered violently. She felt cold penetrating her down to her very core. It felt like fire was spreading through her bones.

Edvard clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. But he wasn't looking at Freja's face. He was looking at… her hair?

The queen looked down. Another large section of her braid had turned snow white.

"What did you do to me?"

"Nothing I can take back, unfortunately. I so would have loved you to see my snowman army. But, I am afraid you won't last that long. Which means my work here is done. So long, _your highness_."

With that, Edvard was gone, and the staircase was nothing but a pile of shattered ice.


	7. The Ice Lord- An Unusual Rescue

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks for your patience, everyone. I forced myself to take a day off writing and gather my thoughts, which was really hard (I am having way too much fun with this story) and very beneficial. It's hard to believe I only started ****Freja's Daughters**** three days ago! **

**I love listening to soundtracks and instrumental music right before or even while I write. It helps my visualization process sooo much! Pandora is great for this! I've got to say, the music from How To Train Your Dragon gets me every time. I could seriously listen to it all day, every day! **

**Anyways... hope you enjoy chapter 7! Please continue to comment and review!**

Chapter 7

It was night. The snow on the North Mountain glowed white, like ivory. The only blemish in its otherwise perfect formation was the trail made from the procession carving its way over the mountain.

In front of the convoy, King Stellan rode on his giant beige stallion. His throat was parched and scratchy from the icy wind that had picked up, and his eyes watered. Or were they tears? Stellan and his men had no clue where to start looking for the queen. There was no sign of life anywhere. Everything was hidden under the snow.

"Freja!" Stellan shouted, his voice carrying only a little ways before it was muffled by the falling snow. He called her name again and again, and now he was quite sure that his eyes were not watering only because of the cold.

"My lord, please…" came a pleading voice to his left. His captain's eyes were sorrowful, and very serious. "Shouting… well… It's not safe. We could cause an avalanche in this storm."

The king glared at him, "And how do you suggest we find my wife, captain?"

The captain looked down at his hands.

"Sire, we are unprepared and miles off course. If we return to Arendelle, just until the storm clears…"

"NO! We are finding her tonight! I will NOT leave her out in this storm alone! We keep going! We will not stop searching until the queen is safely back in Arendelle!"

* * *

Freja had never been so miserable in all her life. Just when she thought it was impossible for her to be any colder, she felt her body shudder and shiver even more vigorously than before. She had held the tears in for hours, but now she was sprawled on the stone floor, letting them stream freely down her cheeks. She was not sobbing. Aside from her clattering teeth and quick, soft breathes, she was completely quiet.

Her people. Her precious Arendelle. Stellan. Edvard had taken them all from her. Her palms rubbed gently against her stomach. Elsa. She hadn't felt her move since Edvard had left. Freja didn't know how long ago that was, but it felt like days. With a jolt, she realized that her daughter would never witness the light of day. Never feel warm sun on her cheeks. Never see anything at all. Her abdomen was stiff and cold. Squeezing her eyes shut, Freja willed her baby to move. To give her a sign.

"Oh, please! Please!" the queen said, as loud as she could muster, "I know you're in there. We only have each other. It's just you and me, Elsa," and her voice flickered as she spoke her daughter's name, "What am I going to do?"

Suddenly, she felt it. A kick! Even though she was wobbly and weak, Freja leapt to her feet. She was going to out of this! She had to! For Elsa!

She screamed. She yelled as loud and as long as she could. She shouted until it felt like her lungs were on fire. Ice crystals were beginning to form on the walls, and she pounded them back, screaming. Her hands were raw and bleeding. Another wave of unearthly chill coursed through Freja, and she dropped to the ground again, breathing hard. Her hair was almost entirely white, now. She forced herself to her feet. She couldn't feel her toes. She couldn't feel anything. Anything except Elsa.

Standing in the center of the room, Freja looked up at the ceiling, the spot where Edvard had come down. She could see that there was once a hole. It was covered by ice now. She leapt for it, missing by several arms lengths. She jumped again and again. Then she saw something!

Someone, or something, was standing on the ice above her! Freja yelled, her voice sounding more like a seagull now than a woman. A loud thump and a crack sounded over her head, and she fell backward are shards of ice came raining down into her prison. A large, moss covered rock had landed in the midst of the ice. Freja ran forward and jumped on top of it. Maybe now she could reach the hole. But the rock moved! It came apart with a gravelly fluttering sound and was peeking out at her with beady black eyes.

"You… you're a… rock!" Freja exclaimed. She wasn't sure what to say.

"Well, technically, I am a troll, your highness" said the rock, and Freja's eyes widened. "But you can call me a rock if it makes you feel better. My name is Bulda."

"Bulda?"

"That's me. Now, stand here, and we'll get you out!" Bulda pulled Freja to the center of the room, so that she was standing underneath the hole. Suddenly a chain of trolls appeared at the opening, each holding on to the next ones feet. A scruffy looking troll smiled at Freja as he grabbed her under the armpits. Bulda scrambled up the troll tower easily and disappeared over the top.

"Pull her up!"

"Careful, careful!

"Don't worry about a thing, your highness. We've got you!"

Before Freja could speak a word, she was sitting on a snow bank in the open air. She breathed in deeply and laughed, throwing her arms up.

"We made it, Elsa! You _are_ going to be born, and you're going to have a perfectly normal childhood!"

The trolls watched her with strange expressions on their faces.

"… what?"

Bulda scuttled forward and ran her large gray hand down Freja's braid. "You're hair."

Freja's heart throbbed. She had almost forgotten about Edvard's curse. Or whatever it was. She suddenly realized how cold she was. Deep down inside, she could feel it spreading. Her breathing faltered and her vision was blurry. Gasping, she rolled over and threw up into the snow.

Bulda nodded.

"Well, there's no time to lose then, your highness. We need to get you someone who can help."

The trolls lifted Freja above their heads and hurried away into the forest.


	8. The Ice Lord- The Frozen Hearted

Chapter 8

Pabbie the troll clucked his tongue as he placed his hand under Freja's chin, examining her. Bulda and the rest of the troll family were huddled around them in a small clearing, one of the only places in the kingdom were snow hadn't touched.

"I'm sorry your highness," said Pabbie, looking sadly into the queen's eyes. "I cannot help you. My magic is powerful, but not that powerful. You have ice in your heart, and the only thing that will heal you at this point is an act of true love."

"True love?" Freja shivered.

"But where do we find that?" Bulda asked Pabbie, "We have to do something."

The trolls whispered amongst themselves for a few minutes, but to no avail.

Freja could hardly think, she was so cold. But there was one person she knew who loved her, and who would always love her.

"Stellan."

"The king?" said Bulda.

"Of course!" exclaimed Pabbie, "What magic is more powerful than that of a true love's kiss?"

"None!" cheered all the trolls together.

"Then it's settled. Your highness, you must stay here, where you are warmer. It will slow down the process."

"The process of what?"

"Did I not say? Oh bother, I'm very sorry. I'm afraid, if true love does not intervene soon, you will freeze to solid ice. Very beautiful, but also, very permanent. Except on rare occasions."

Freja thought of Elsa and a single tear ran down her cheek.

"Don't you worry, your highness!" said Bulda, "We will find the king and bring him to you. Quicker than a snowman melts in summer! Come on, you lot! Let's go find true love!"

* * *

"Sire! Sire!"

Stellan's horse had slipped on ice, and the king had been buried waist deep in snow.

"I'm fine, captain. Just get me out!"

He was lifted up and set on his feet.

"This storm is getting worse by the minute! We need to find shelter!"

"Not until we find my wife!"

Without warning, the procession was surrounded. On all sides, strange, talking rock-like creatures were jumping up and down, singing and chanting.

"True love, true love true love!"

"What is this!?" demanded the captain, "Hold your ground, men, do not attack!"

"Your majesty! King!" A creature yelled, running up to Stellan.

"Halt!" the captain brandished his sword and pointed it at the creature.

Stellan squinted at it through the falling snow.

"Trolls! They're trolls!"

"King, sir! We need to take you to the queen!"

"Freja? You found her?" Stellan felt the terror rolling off of him like steam.

"Yes, yes! But you need to come, quickly! She needs you!"

That sent a new kind of fear washing over the king. Was she hurt? Was the baby? Mounting his horse, he turned to face his men.

"I thank you for your service today. Now I want you to go back to Arendelle. Be with your families, and make sure they are safe. Go." Then he turned and kicked his horse into a gallop, slipping and sliding down the mountain, following the trolls as they rolled and bounced along in front of him.

* * *

Freja was only half conscious as Pabbie placed hot liquid on her lips. He opened her mouth and tried to swallow, but her tongue felt swollen and her jaw rigid. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. She couldn't do anything.

"Remember to keep breathing," Pabbie urged. Freja realized in shock that she had not inhaled in about half a minute. She shakily put a hand on her abdomen.

"Will… sh-she…"

"Hush, now," said Pabbie, spooning more soup into her mouth. Most of it dribbled down her chin.

A commotion at the far end of the clearing caused Freja to crane her neck painfully in that direction. A group of trolls was skipping and hooting and escorting a man toward her.

"Stellan!" she tried to shout for him, but her voice didn't come.

Stellan ran toward her and caught her around the waist as she fell toward him. He stared at her. Was it possible for someone to look awful and gorgeous at the same time? If not, his wife was definitely the exception. Her hair was completely white now, and her face pale.

"Oh, Freja, I'm so sorry!"

"No time for talk, sire," interrupted Pabbie, "You need to kiss her. Now!"

And kiss her, the king did. Freja blinked as he leaned in. His lips were warm against hers. The warmth felt better than anything she had ever experienced in her whole life. It spread through her whole body, starting deep inside her chest and radiating out through her cheeks and fingers and toes. Her scalp tingled with sensation, and her hair turned back to its natural brown color. She felt so alive that she wanted to scream. But instead, she wrapped her arms around Stellan and pulled him close to her, tears of joy streaming freely down both of their faces.

At last, they both pulled back, laughing. Freja threw her arms around her husband and hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back.

"Oh!" exclaimed Freja. She turned to Pabbie, leaving Stellan a little perplexed.

"Will… will Elsa be okay?"

Pabbie smiled. "I think she will be just… incredible."

As if to reiterate, a soft kick hit the inside of Freja's belly.

"Thank heavens!" said Stellan. He drew Freja to him, knelt down, and planted his lips on her bulge. "Thank heavens, my little Elsa."

He stood up, smiling.

Freja gasped.

"Edvard! He… he…"

"We know he took you," Stellan said, "One of the servants saw him sneaking into the castle on the day you disappeared and we put two and two together. You don't have to worry about him anymore. He is locked away in the dungeon until we can give him a trial."

"He's in Arendelle?!"

"Yes. He's not going anywhere. He has five guards sitting on his cell."

Freja's eyes were hard.

"That won't be enough."


	9. The Ice Lord- Jail Break

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the delay, all. It's been a busy couple of days. Anyways, here's chapter 9! Chapter 10 soon to come!**

Chapter 9

Arendelle's dungeons were hardly ever full. Thanks to King Stellan's wisdom and fairness, crime in the kingdom had been very low as of late. Every once in a great while, some psycho would find himself locked up in one of those dark, dank cells, with only the occasional rat for company. He would lie on the bed, which was nearly rock hard, and stare at the ceiling or pass the hours by drawing with his fingernail on the rocks that made up three of the four walls. Today was no different.

Captain Hansel had returned from the North Mountain and dismissed most of his troops. It was too rough a night to keep them away from their families, especially with the weather the way it was. A few men had stayed behind to keep an eye on the prisoner. Now, they were hunkered around a dwindling fire, holding their hands out toward the warmth. The storm had intensified over the last few hours, and now the icy wind howled and screeched as it wound its way around the turrets and towers of the castle. The townsfolk were, for the most part, under house arrest as the snow continued to pile, foot upon foot, around their doors and walls and windows.

The captain looked through a thickly frosted window. The North Mountain was no longer visible. In fact, hardly anything was visible. He should have never left the king out there alone. Or with those trolls, or whatever they were. Hansel had heard of the mountain trolls before, and all the stories of his youth told him there was nothing to be feared from them. They mainly dealt in magic works, and kept to themselves, but had no quarrel with Arendelle or the royal family. The captain shook his head. He had done the right thing in coming back. He had followed orders. But as the cell doors began to rattle from the action outside, he could feel his face grow pale and cold.

Hansel turned to look at the one prisoner that had the misfortune of being locked up in a cold room on a night like tonight. No sympathy was to be spared to this scumbag. Abducting the queen? Seriously, what did he have to prove? He had gone through a short interrogation before the search party had left, but they had got nothing out of him. No ransom price, no demands. Not one word.

At the moment, the kidnapper was standing next to the window, staring out into the white, his hands resting on the frosty window pane. The cold seemed to not bother him. Or he was already so coldhearted that the freezing temperatures passed right over him. Either way, he didn't seemed fazed in the least by the storm howling outside. A wicked smile crept over his face.

Hansel tried to look away, but that face filled him with such disgust that all he could do was stare. At last, the captain rapped his sword hilt on the metal bars of the cell door. The prisoner turned around slowly, still grinning.

"You think this is funny, do you?" Hansel asked, his voice shaky in the cold. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. "Just think, if you had told us how to find the queen, someone probably would have given you a blanket. Maybe even some hot grog."

The prisoner laughed.

"So…" he hissed, "No luck finding her then?"

It was the first thing he had said since his arrest. Hansel jumped at the chance. Maybe now he was in a more cooperative mood.

"Why did you take her, in the first place? It's not like you've made any profit from it. All that happened was it landed you in jail. And trust me, King Stellan is _not_ going to let you off easy at all. I'm just curious, what was in all of this for you? If you cooperate, you'll stand a better chance during your trial. Are you working with someone?"

The prisoner came and stood right next to the door, only a small ways away from the captain. He didn't seem afraid. Not in the least. And that was unnerving.

"Actually, yes, I am. They aren't supporting me on this particular assignment, however."

"Well, that's probably because you are in jail. No honor among thieves, mate."

Hansel almost grimaced at that last word. He would rather put an arrow through this man's heart than be "mates" with him. But building rapport was essential in uncovering the truth. He pushed a little further.

"So, these associates of yours, is it them who are interested in the queen?"

"Oh no, not at all! She was a particular interest of mine alone. We go way back, her ladyship and I," and that evil smirk once again played on the kidnapper's face, "But the queen is not my end goal, either. She was merely an opportunity that I took to work the circumstances to my advantage."

That did not sound good.

"What circumstances? You are in prison."

"Only for a while longer. When I am free, however, all of Arendelle will crumble under me. Every man, woman, and child will be no more."

Something was very, very wrong with this picture. This man was calm, too calm. Outside, the storm screamed angrily. He wanted to be here!

"Guards!" shouted Hansel.

But he was too late! A spear of ice materialized from the prisoner's hand, shooting forward at the captain and slashing him in the chest. He fell backward with a thud against a table, slumping down to the floor. Everything was blurry. He saw his men run forward, but a blinding white flash left them stunned… or worse… sprawled across the ground. The prisoner pressed his hands against the metal bars of the door, smiling as they turned cold and brittle, then stood back and shot a giant wall of ice at the door. It crashed open easily. Edvard stepped out of the cell, looking about him at the unconscious figures that were meant to be his guards. Laughing, he stepped over the bodies, opened the door, and ran into the whiteout.


	10. The Ice Lord- Arendelle Overtaken

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the delay! Life has been crazy lately. Please continue checking up on the story, reading, and reviewing! I find it so encouraging and motivating to get feedback. **

**Hope you enjoy Chapter 10!**

Chapter 10

The king's horse sped down the mountain, Stellan at the reins and Freja sitting behind him, clutching him around the middle to hold herself steady. The already freezing air was painful and biting as it slapped across her cheeks, so she buried her face in her husband's back, trying to shield herself from the wind. She couldn't imagine the torment he was going through, with nothing at all between his face and the agony of the frosty air. His nose was most likely blue by now. Freja shut her eyes tightly and willed the horse to run faster.

The queen felt them slow down, then come to a halt. She opened her eyes again, and felt Stellan's breath shudder. Far below them, they could just make out their kingdom of Arendelle. A dark cloud had formed above the castle, swirling around the kingdom like a miniature hurricane. The Ice Lord had begun his work.

"Edvard," Freja breathed. She felt Stellan nod slightly. He clucked at his horse, and they galloped onward.

The streets of Arendelle were completely deserted, covered in several feet of snow. The air was whipping around buildings and streets like a wildfire as the king and queen rode through, heading toward the prisons. The door was ajar.

"Oh no," gasped Freja.

Stellan drew his sword. "Stay close."

They burst into the prison. Then their eyes fell to the six figures on the ground.

"Hansel!" exclaimed the king, crouching by his captain's body. He was dusted with a layer of snow that had blown in through the open door. The white floor was stained red with blood, and an icy stake was pinning the captain down.

Freja's breath was fast as she placed a soft hand on Hansel's face.

He gasped, his eyes popping open! Freja screamed a little and jumped back, then rushed forward again.

"Oh! Captain, thank heavens!"

Hansel squinted up at her. "Your highness?" he croaked, and put a hand on his chest, where the ice spike penetrated him. "Sire."

The queen checked the other guards in the little room. They were all still breathing, thankfully, but they were all unconscious.

"Hold on there, Hansel," said Stellan, firmly. He hustled over and held a hand over the fireplace. It was cold. Taking a match, he struck it against the rock wall and lit a frost-covered torch. The flame was small and flickering wildly. The king sheilded it from the wind until it grew a little bigger, then walked back to his captain and held the fire up under the ice. Nothing happened for a minute, but eventually the stake began to pop and drip, and Hansel sighed with relief as the now warm water ran down his chest.

Freja put a hand gently to his wound. It was very clean. It had already been washed out by the water.

"Are… are you okay, captain?" the queen asked cautiously.

"Right as rain, now, m'lady, and I'm very glad to see you are safe, as well," said Hansel, bracing himself against the wall to stand. Once on his feet, he seemed to be his invincible self again. Freja looked down at the puddle of red on the ground, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes.

"Oh, Hansel, I'm so sorry!"

"Now, your highness, don't go blaming yourself. It isn't your fault, not in the least."

"… it kind of is."

Stellan frowned. "No. It is _not!_ The only person at fault here is Edvard Beteran."

Hansel looked confused for a second. He had so many questions. Then he straightened up suddenly.

"I need to find the prisoner!" he headed for the door and looked out. "Blast this weather! It's bound to add ease to his escape."

"Edvard's not trying to escape, captain," said the king, his eyes hard, "and we're running out of time. We need to get to the tower."

"Why would he go there?"

"It's the highest point in Arendelle."

Stellan and Freja ran ahead of Hansel, out the door, the queen borrowing a sword from a fallen soldier as she passed by him. Even if all hope was lost, she would still fight for those she loved.

The journey through the castle was deathly silent. The staff must have been in hiding, for not a sound or a footstep or a voice was cast in the empty halls. The trio moved quickly and stealthily, swords brandished and hearts beating wildly.

At last, they reached the tower. Freja looked up at it. It had never seemed too tall before, but now she realized that it stretched up high above the rest of the castle, like a patriarchal tree in a forest. At the top, the dark gray clouds were converging. The eye of the storm.

"Yep, he's up there," Stellan said softly, "Okay, Hansel and I will go up. Freja, stay."

Freja frowned. Stellan never commanded her like that. _Stay_? With the fate of her kingdom on the line? With her family's lives hanging in the balance?

"I am not staying here like a child while you go up and risk you lives! You could be killed and I'd never know until Arendelle was buried under this curse! You don't know what Edvard is capable of! He's powerful!"

"Exactly why you are staying here," retorted the king, without looking at her. He knew if he did meet her stern gaze, he would not be able to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't focus all his energy on defeating their foe if he was worried about his wife the whole while. "Please, Freja, you must stay safe!"

"No! If anything happened to you…"

"If anything happens to me, you are all Arendelle has left!" Stellan took a deep breath and turned to face her, his eyes begging. "Please, _please¸_ my love… keep yourself safe! Keep Elsa safe!"

Freja's cheeks were streaked with half frozen tears. She clutched her arms around her abdomen. How could he make her choose between the two of them? Her husband or her daughter? Was that the only way out? She felt Elsa move inside her, and sobbed. Throwing her arms around Stellan's neck, she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Come back to me, Stellan."

Stellan held her tightly for a few minutes, then slipped out of her grasp. Without a word, he kissed her hand and nodded to Hansel. Then the king and his captain disappeared silently into the tower.


	11. The Ice Lord- In The Tower

**Author's Note:**

**We're almost done! I have had so much fun writing this story! And don't worry. I plan to write a second part to it later on. Can't wait to continue!**

**For those of you who have followed this story, you might be a little confused with why the title is different all of a sudden. I changed the title of the story from Freja's Daughters to Chronicles of Arendelle. I was pretty much making up the storyline as I went along, so I wasn't sure what to call it right at first. It turned out being more centered on the queen rather than her daughters anyways. (I hope to include the Elsa in later stories, however, and Anna eventually.) Anyhow, hope this clears up any confusion! **

**Enjoy this next chapter! Please continue your reviews and comments, followings and favorites!**

Chapter 11

Freja felt like she had been waiting at the foot of the tour for days. Maybe even weeks. She pressed her hands against the cold stone wall behind her in apprehension. Her palms were sweaty, and they made a sucking sound when she pulled them back to her sides again. She crossed her arms over her stomach. Her nerves were making it was writhe like a wounded animal inside her, and she felt like she was about to vomit. Yep. She was. She leaned over the low wall and threw up into the courtyard.

Her mind seemed to be disconnected from her body. Every sound, every shuffle, made her startle. Of course, she could hardly hear anything besides the howling of the icy wind. The black cyclone of clouds hovered above her, threateningly, and the queen watched them swirl and spiral and change shape. She very nearly thought they were beautiful. Beautiful like a big mountain cat before it snapped your neck in its jaws. Freja shivered as she watched the darkening sky. So long as the clouds kept circling, it meant that Edvard was still in control, and Stellan and Hansel and all of Arendelle were still in great danger.

The queen looked up again and the tower, blinking as the snow stuck to her eyelashes and bangs. The snowflakes were large and perfectly formed, like they were carved by a sculptor. Freja wiped them away from her face.

"C'mon, Stellan. C'mon!" she mumbled to herself. He had to be up there by now… where was he? She craned her neck forward at an incredibly uncomfortable angle. The single window in the wall of the tower was empty. What was Edvard even doing in there, taking a nap?

At that moment, a violent change in the wind tossed Freja's braid into her face. She whipped it back over her shoulder. The clouds were changing! Something was happening! Above the howling wind, she heard an angry shout. She couldn't discern words from it, but she could tell it was her husband. Her breath caught in her throat. For a second that seemed like a month, everything held perfectly still. Then a figure appeared at the window. Out of the window!

"STELLAN!" Freja screeched. Her husband was hanging on for his life, clutching a stone ledge beneath the opening of the window, his feet scraping the side of the tower, but finding no traction on the ice incrusted castle.

"Hold on, oh please, hold on!" Freja couldn't breathe. Where was Hansel? Why didn't he pull Stellan up? Tears were streaming down the queen face, freezing on the way down her cheeks. She couldn't think. Pulling out her sword, she raced to the tower doorway. Up and up she climbed, for what seemed like ever, but she had never been moving more swiftly in all her life. She took the steps three, four at a time. She was halfway there. Three quarters of the way…

Freja burst into the tower. Within seconds she had taken in her surroundings. Captain Hansel was pinned beneath a block of ice twice as large as him. His head was bleeding. Stellan's hands where just barely visible out the window. His knuckles were white as snow. Edvard Beteran was standing next to the window, looking down at the king, his cold hands moving far too close to Stellan's quivering ones. Just one push and her husband would be lost.

"STOP, EDVARD!" she shouted as loudly as she could. She brandished her sword at him.

She was not afraid. And Edvard knew it. She saw the surprise in his face, as his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, ever so slightly. Freja tilted her head to the side.

"What's the matter? Didn't expect to see me again? Expected me to die in a cave while you destroyed me home? Well, guess what? I don't die that easily! It's going to take a lot more effort on your part to drain the life out of me! Just you try!"

_Clang_. Freja's sword was knocked out of her hand by a shot of ice from Edvard. The look of shock had disappeared from his face, and all that remained was anger and hatred. He stood, staring at her intently, and an evil smile crept over his face. Suddenly he was next to her, his hand over her throat.

"So…" he said, his voice deep and calm, "You want me to kill you?"

Freja grasped at his hand, scratched it, but he didn't let go.

"It would be my genuine pleasure, my dear. But first, I want you to watch as I kill your husband. I want you to know that you could have stopped me, but you were too weak. I want you to know how you failed him. You failed your kingdom. And you failed your child."

A hand still closed around the queen's neck, Edvard turned, his free hand raised. A knife of ice formed in his palm, and he pointed it at Stellan.

"Maybe I'll just cut off his wrist. That's not a fatal wound, you know. Oh, unless, you need your hand for something, I don't know."

"No…" Freja choked out. Stars danced before her eyes, but for some reason, her head was completely clear.

Edvard raised the knife.

"NO!" cried Freja again. Her captor released his hold on her suddenly, flinging his hand away from her like she had burned him. Freja flung her arms out at him, hoping to push him hard enough to knock him down. But instead, a tingling sensation escaped from her fingers. A spear of solid ice sprung into existence, striking Edvard square in the chest. He stumbled backward, his eyes confused, then full of pain. Slumping against the wall, Edvard's head lolled. His breath stopped. The ice had pierced him right through his frozen heart.

Freja look at her hands. They seemed normal. She put a palm to her hand, trying to think. Now that Edvard was dead, everything seemed unfocused and confusing. A grunt from the window snapped her back to reality.

"Stellan!" she ran to him, clasping his elbow and pulling with all her might. He slipped into the room and flopped on the floor, breathing heavily, his arms out to the sides of him like limp noodles.

Freja fell on top of him, pressing her face into his neck. There were too many emotions inside her to contain. She was crying and laughing and smiling, and her lip was quivering. Stellan propped himself up on an elbow and hugged her. He looked over her shoulder at where Edvard had fallen. Their foe was glassy-eyed and slouched, lifeless, against the wall.

"How?" the king asked.

Freja looked at her hands again, "I have no idea."

She imagined herself, shooting out ice and snow from her hands. It was a strange thought.

"Am… am I, well, cursed, you think?"

"If you are, it's the greatest curse ever! It saved your life! And mine, and all of Arendelle!"

"But what if it turns my heart cold, like it did to him?"

Stellan ran a finger down her cheek. His wife was looking at him with her big blue eyes full of worry.

"That's impossible."

Then he kissed her.


	12. The Ice Lord- Tranquility

**Author's Note:**

**Last chapter of Part 1 (which I had officially dubbed "The Ice Lord")! I am so happy I decided to write this story! I never thought I would have so much fun with fanfiction. And I honestly feel quite happy with my first story ever! I even wrote it all the way to the end. That doesn't happen to me much. Anyways, it's been great! Thanks so much for all you who commented and encouraged me along! It did make a great impact. **

**I hope to continue the story, some unknown Part 2 that I haven't planned much of yet. But I do intend to start writing it in the near future! **

**Happy reading! :)**

Chapter 12

_Three weeks later_…

Autumn was back to its ordinary routine. The late October sky was crisp and bright and blue, and the air smelled of mist and dried leaves. Children ran and played again in the streets of Arendelle, and all around was a wonderful atmosphere of peace and relaxation. The snow was gone. The ice had melted away. Winter would come, like it was meant to, in a month or so, and this time Arendelle would welcome a mild chill and frosty window panes with open arms.

Standing on her balcony overlooking the courtyard, Queen Freja watched as the minute figures of children skittered up and down the cobblestoned roads, and she could just barely hear their laughing and singing on the soft breeze. She sighed happily and looked down. Her belly had grown quite a bit in the last few weeks. Freja smiled. In a few years, Elsa, too, would be running and playing in the courtyard and around the castle. How strange things would be then. So much would change. Perhaps, in a few years, she would have a sibling, a little brother or sister, and the two of them could have adventures together, exploring their brave new world.

The queen rubbed her lower back. She was sore, and was starting to feel a little top-heavy and unbalanced. Sliding down to rest on a stone bench, Freja let her arms fall limp over the side of the balcony, breathing in the glorious fall air. She was completely at peace.

With the exception of the miracle of her daughter, Freja had experienced no more traces of magic since the day Edvard had been defeated. And she was relieved. After all the kingdom had gone through at the hands of that awful sorcerer, she could only imagine their panic if anyone else should show signs of magic. Most likely, there would be an uprising of some sort. But no, whatever power Edvard's curse had transferred to her was gone, diluted away somewhere in her blood. There was nothing left to fear.

Somewhere, the sound of a finely tuned guitar graced the air, the music carrying on the wind all the way up to Freja's ears. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft tune.

Behind her, Stellan strode onto the balcony, wrapping his arms around her waist. He put his cheek against hers and followed her gaze, out across Arendelle, up toward the North Mountain. There was still snow there. It was unlikely it would thaw until next spring.

"My lady," said the king, softly, in Freja's ear, "Might I have this dance?"

Freja turned toward him, smiling. Oh, how she loved when he danced. She knew that when he danced, he was completely comfortable, and all of the world was at peace.

"You're dancing with two, you know," she giggled.

"Well, then I suppose I will have to be extra graceful," grinned Stellan, catching her by the elbows and twirling her around, lightly. She had to admit, he was getting better at it.

Pressing her cheek to her husband's chest, Freja hummed, echoing the strumming of the distant guitar. The king and queen danced slowly, watching as the sun set over Arendelle.

* * *

The bar at the inn was full. The man with the scraggly red beard pulled a rocky wooden chair up to a table in the corner of the room instead, and sat heavily on it.

"Good God. Is it always this crowded? Every bloke in Corona must be in here tonight."

The figure slouched in a second chair across from him shrugged.

"It's better this way. More noise. Less eavesdroppers. Any news?"

The red haired man nodded and leaned closer.

"Beteran is dead."

The second man raised his eyebrows in apparent amusement.

"Well, that's a waste. Although he was a bit eccentric."

The first man scoffed, "I'll say."

"But his powers… those were valuable beyond anything he could give himself. It's a shame they're lost."

"About that," said the red haired man, taking a swig from the bottle in front of him, "There still could be a way to harness it."

The slouched man suddenly became un-slouched, pulling back his gray hood ever so slightly, so that his eyes gleamed orange in the candlelight.

"What do mean, 'harness it?' Harness Beteran's power? How?"

The red haired man smiled, showing many missing teeth.

"There is another."


	13. The Lost Princess- Corona

**Author's Note:**

**And we are back! Thus begins the 2nd installation of Chronicles of Arendelle! I'm very excited to get going on this story! Hope you all enjoy! Please comment, review, favorite, whatever you feel like.**

**Happy reading! :)**

**Book 2: The Lost Princess**

Chapter 1- Corona

Freja stood on the prow of _The Unicorn_, straining her eyes along the soft green coast. The wind was crisp and refreshing, and the queen of Arendelle could hardly resist the urge to throw out her arms and whoop into the ocean wind. But resist, she did, only because last time she had not done so, she had lost her balance and fell in an uncoordinated heap on the slick deck of the ship. Freja looked down at the cause of her swiftly acquired clumsiness: her immensely inflated abdomen. With only a few weeks to go in her pregnancy, the anticipation and excitement had reached an all time high.

Breathing in the salty air deeply, the queen squinted toward the mist shrouded land to the east of them. Then she saw it! A tiny golden glimmer amidst the green! Corona! It had been too long since Freja had been to her childhood home, but she still remembered every single bit of it. The beautiful stone bridge, the tall towers, the blue-green woodwork woven into the kingdom, all beckoned her closer. Freja squeaked with excitement and ran, or rather, waddled, to the helm and looked up. Stellan, her husband, was in the crow's nest, as usual, gazing out over the water. She smiled up at him. He looked so happy, up there. Stellan loved sailing. He often had told her, if was not busy being Arendelle's king, he would be a sailor.

A sick feeling came suddenly into Freja's stomach. In the past, she also had enjoyed riding out on the water. This time was different. This time, the strong smell of salt and seaweed made her gut turn inside out, and the rocking of the ship, which she had enjoyed in the years before, would sometimes make her face turn green. It was happening again. Clutching her writhing stomach, the queen called up to her husband.

"I don't think Elsa likes sailing, much, dear!"

Stellan laughed. Swinging his body out of the crow's nest, he climbed down the ropes and dropped heavily at Freja's side.

"Someday she will," he said, placing a hand softly on his wife's swollen belly. "Say, Freja, you don't look so good."

Freja rolled her eyes. "Thanks for noticing."

Throwing his arm around her, Stellan gazed out toward the approaching kingdom.

"So, Corona. How long has it been?"

"Not since Rosie's wedding. That was, let's see… four years?"

"Hm," responded Stellan.

Freja continued, "I can't wait to see her again! Her belly has got to be _huge_! She's due any day now! And just think, our children can grow up together! Cousins!"

Stellan had started chuckling, quietly.

"What? What is it?"

"'Her belly's got to be huge?' Well, I dare say, my love, you're one to talk."

Freja smacked him playfully in the shoulder, but she laughed as well. She couldn't help it. She was going to see her sister!

* * *

_The Unicorn_ slid gracefully into the harbor, casting a lovely reflection on the still water. She was a gorgeous ship, Freja thought, with her huge white sails and a beautiful unicorn (thus the name) carved on her prow. Standing as close as she could to the dock, Freja shielded her eyes with her hand and skimmed the awaiting crowd for another queen, who looked very much like her. Where was she? Her cheery mood was lowered a notch. Since when did Rosie not turn up to welcome her to Corona? Come to mention it, Freja couldn't find Thomas, Rosie's husband, either. That puzzled her.

At last, the ship was secured and they were able to climb ashore. The land felt strange and overly solid underneath Freja's feet. After five days at sea, her mind at least had grown accustomed to the constantly moving floor. Her stomach, however, rejoiced. Clutching Stellan's arm, she whispered fervently in his ear.

"Where are they?"

Her husband shrugged, and also starting looking around the crowd.

"Ah, there's Thomas!" said Freja, sighing with relief. The king of Corona was walking forward to welcome them. But something strange was on his face. His smile was forced, and he had bags under his blue eyes.

"Your majesty! So good to see you!" Stellan smiled, bowing a little, then offering a hand to Thomas.

"Please, Stellan, there's no need to call me that! I trust you had a pleasant journey. Very good to see you, friend."

"Thomas," grinned Freja.

"My dear sister-in-law! You look marvelous!" Thomas stood back to view her abdomen and Freja laughed.

"It's so great to see you! Sorry, but where's Rosie?"

Thomas's smile faded instantly, and a sick feeling, not unlike the seasickness she had experienced the last several days, plummeted like a stone inside Freja.

The king took a step closer to them, so as to shield his voice from the other people on the dock.

"Rose is not well, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?" Freja's voice came out in an unintended whisper.

"She's sick," said Thomas, his eyes dropping to the ground. "Really sick."

"Good heavens," breathed Stellan, and he placed a hand on Freja's back. She knew he intended it to be a comforting gesture, but she could stand anyone touching her right now. She shrugged his hand off, subtly, and looked up into his eyes as an apology.

"Can… can I see her?"

Thomas looked as if he were about to cry. "Of course, Freja."

The three of them made their way into the castle.


	14. The Lost Princess- The Queen of Corona

Chapter 2

The castle was silent as King Thomas, Stellan, and Freja slipped into the gates. It was as if every person, animal, and piece of furniture was holding its breath, waiting in agony for the tension to be released. The staff skirted around them quietly, keeping to the walls and not making eye contact. Freja did manage to meet the eyes of a gray-haired woman. Gerty. She remembered, years ago, Gerty looked after her and Rosie. The old woman was practically a second mother to them. Freja attempted a half smile as she looked into Gerty's face. Gerty looked down at her feet, then up again, sadly, at Freja. Then she was gone, walking the opposite direction down the long hall.

Freja clutched Stellan's arm again. She felt like running, sprinting as fast as her feet would carry her. Either to her sister's side, or away. Far, far away. Anything would be better than this agonizingly slow pace, stuck in between.

They came to a beautifully carven oak door. Thomas placed his palm on it, as if to knock. Instead, he just pushed it open gently. Freja felt like her legs would fail beneath her. The anticipation was going to murder her before she even saw Rosie. Ducking under Thomas's arm, she ran into the room, blinking back tears.

"Rosie?"

Her sister was laying on a white bed, propped up slightly by her pillows. Her hazel eyes, usually so bright and alive, were dull and hazy. She looked up slowly.

"Freja," her voice was practically gone.

Freja came closer and sat on the side of the bed. Rosie's belly was huge, just like she had imagined. She smiled and put a soft hand on it.

"You look like you're about to pop."

Rosie made a quiet sniff, in an attempt to laugh, then she doubled over and coughed hoarsely. Gasping, she sat back again and took a deep breath. Freja's eyes were wide with worry.

"You look good, yourself," said the queen of Corona, smiling.

A tear slid down Freja cheek.

"What's… what's the matter with you? Do you know? How long have you been like this?"

Rosie coughed again, and Thomas stepped forward to press a cool cloth to her forehead.

"Our physicians don't know what wrong," he answered for his wife, "They have tried everything they can think of, but nothing has worked. She's been sick for eight days, now."

"I'm s-sorry you had to see me like this," Rosie spoke weakly, "I would have written to you to tell you it wasn't a good time to come, but…"

"Oh, hush!" Freja said, standing, "As if you could have kept me away. I _need_ to be here to take care of you! We will figure something out. Every illness has a weakness." She looked at Stellan, then at Thomas. Both figures were very sorrowful to see. Rosie started at her hands, then placed them gently on her abdomen, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Just stop it, all of you!" Freja exclaimed. She, too, was close to crying. But what good would that do? "I'm not going to have you all moping around and giving up hope! Firstly, it doesn't help, secondly, it just makes everyone feel worse! So…"

She ran over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Dust puffed off of them. As sunlight streamed into the room, Rosie squinted, but couldn't help cracking a smile at her younger sister. Oh, Freja, always so full of hope.

Pushing open the windows to let in the warm March air, Freja took a deep breath.

"There! Now, I'd like to go to the library. I have a touch of research to do."

* * *

Deep in the forest, across the water from Corona, someone was singing. It was really a very horrid female voice, old and cracking, and the birds in the trees covered their heads with their wings in an attempt to block it out. The voice carried on, crooning, almost lovingly, the incantation.

_Flower, gleam and glow_

_Let your power shine…_

Suddenly, the tone began to change. The creakiness of it faded slowly, and it started to transform.

_Make the clock reverse_

_Bring back what once was mine_

_What once was mine…_

Everything ugly had dissipated out of the singer's voice. The notes were clean and clear, and very much in tune. There was still something strange about it, however. It was dark, a mysterious, bleak sound, but beautiful at the same time.

The song ended, and everything was silent, save for the chirping of crickets and other nighttime forest noises.

After several minutes, a glowing green orb appeared, exiting the woods. It was a lantern. Holding the lantern, a figure in a red cloak walked hurriedly forward, toward the water's edge. A tiny rowboat awaited her. Settling herself inside it, she began to row the boat back toward Corona.


	15. The Lost Princess- The Miracle Man

**Author's Note:**

**Hi, all! Hope that you are enjoying the 2nd part of Chronicles of Arendelle so far! I know I have enjoyed writing it. **

**I have found this is seriously a great writing exercise for me. I have never written anything this long or involved before. There's no pressure to get everything perfect, so I am finding great freedom in just writing in small increments at a time, just whatever comes to mind. No annoying editing or outlines for me! (maybe a quick spellcheck) Why did I not start fanfiction sooner?!**

**Anyways, enjoy this next chapter!**

**Please comment and review!**

Chapter 3

Freja had been in the giant library of Corona for days. Her fingers felt raw from thumbing through pages, and her eyes and neck ached. She had long since kicked off her shoes and propped her feet up on the table, the approximately three-hundredth medical book lying open in her lap. And she was snoring, the kind of moaning, unsuspecting snore that emanates from a person who didn't intend to fall asleep. Her head was lolled sideways, her cheek resting against the chair.

She gave a soft snort as she awoke suddenly. Stellan was sitting next to her, holding a tray of food. Her stomach growled.

"Mmm… breakfast," she smiled up at him, rubbing her eyes.

"Lunch," said Stellan, an edge of firmness in his voice.

"Oh."

Freja took the tray and ate, slowly at first, then pushing as much food into her mouth as would fit. She felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

Stellan watched her silently as she gobbled down her lunch. Leaning back, she sighed and put her hands on her abdomen. Freja smiled as she felt her daughter kicking. She reached for Stellan's hand and placed it underneath her own.

"Freja, please, you need to rest."

"I thought I just did."

"That didn't count," her husband shook his head, "I mean a proper rest, you know, in a bed. And a meal eaten over a table, not old manuscripts. You've been at this for three days now. You must have scoured every book in this library!"

Freja set her jaw. "It's a big library," she retorted.

Stellan looked her square in the face. She hated when he did that. His eyes, blue as the sea, always made her strangely emotional as of late. She sniffed.

"I can't find anything," Freja said shakily, "Nothing that would help Rosie. There isn't a medical book in here that has a cure the physicians haven't tried yet."

She rose from the chair, her back, legs, and everything else protesting. Stellan rubbed her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, Freja."

Sorry? Sorry for what? Did he think it was hopeless? That her sister was going to die? That her unborn niece or nephew would perish along with her? She closed her eyes and tried to keep from crying. Why were these thoughts circling in her mind like black buzzards, waiting for her to fall, lifeless, to the floor? _Control it_. She had to keep her head. But her head was spinning from exhaustion and worry and all that reading, and she felt the tears coming. She blinked them back.

"I'm going to go talk to the physicians again," Freja said, pulling away from Stellan. His hands were firm on her shoulders for a second, then he released her.

"Please, my love… I admire your hope and determination. You know I do. But… some things are just, well, beyond help. Sometimes it's best just to spend as much time with a person as you can before…" his voice drifted off as Freja eyes narrowed up at him.

Spinning on her heel, Freja walked out of the library.

* * *

The physicians' quarters were modest and small, but not shabby. A lovely chandelier, crafted to portray a flying lantern, a trademark of Corona, hung in the middle of the common area, casting a soft yellowy light around the room. Freja slipped in quietly.

"Jonas?"

No one answered.

"Hello? Anyone here? Mathias? Conrad? Anybody?"

But the quarters were deserted. Most likely, the physicians were out gathering herbs and supplies in the shops. Freja sighed. What could anyone do to save her sister? Rosie's condition had gotten worse. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was pale, even with the sunlight streaming into her bedroom. She broke out into chills several times a day, and Thomas had been as attached to her side as Freja had been to the library. Standing in the empty room, despair threatened to creep over Freja. Tears, so long held back, came flowing down her cheeks like a waterfall, and she felt her legs wobble treacherously beneath her. She put a hand on her large abdomen and cried some more. Would Elsa never know what it was like to have a cousin?

"My lady?"

A voice from the doorway make Freja jump. She turned quickly, wiping her face on her sleeve. A middle-aged man stood there. He was tall and powerfully built, wearing a light green cloak. He had only a small amount of facial hair— a half-grown, scraggly reddish beard.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" he said, seeing the state the woman was in. He turned to leave.

"No, no, it's fine… you can come in," Freja said quickly, attempting a smile. "I don't think we've met. I'm Freja."

The poor man seemed very flustered now. He hastily sunk to one knee in an ungraceful bow.

"Oh, my, your highness!"

"Oh, please, please don't. I'm not even royalty here… Well, actually… nevermind. What's your name?"

The red-haired man looked at her inquiringly. "You're Queen Primrose's sister."

Freja felt like she had been punched in the gut at the mention of Rosie.

"Yes. That's me."

"Then you're just the person I need to talk to! My name's Carney, by the way. I… I may have a way to help her, the queen!"

"What? How!?" Freja jumped a pace closer to him, restraining herself from clutching at his cloak in earnest.

"Well, not me, actually, but I know of someone who can."

"… Who?"

Carney wrung his hands before answering. "His name's Alazair. He's… different. But he can do things that most normal people can't. Miracles!"

Tension welled up inside Freja. A miracle worker. That was just what they needed right now. But… miracles or magic. She had experienced her fair share of sorcery last fall. She really didn't want to encounter it again. Not for as long as she lived. _But Rosie._

"Alazair already knows that he might be summoned to save Queen Primrose," continued Carney, "He wanted me to get a message to you. He can come to see your sister tonight, but he doesn't like an audience. He would like you to be there, to discuss payment (he does his work for profit, see), but no one else."

"Payment?"

"Yeah. This whole miracle-working thing. He says that every miracle comes with a price."

"How much does he want?" Freja asked. Not that it mattered. Both her and Thomas would willingly hand over every gold and jewel they owned to save Rosie.

"Oh, he decides once he sees her."

Of course he does.

Biting her bottom lip in contemplation, Freja examined Carney. She thought of Rosie, of Thomas, of their baby, and of Elsa (she always thought of Elsa). What other choice did she have? They were running out of time. This was usually when people started looking for a miracle. And now, apparently, one had fallen right into her lap.

"Okay, Mr. Carney," she said, straightening up, "Send word to this Alazair that I will meet him tonight. I will take him up on his offer."


	16. The Lost Princess-The Price of a Miracle

**Author's Note: **

**Wow, that was a long chapter! Thanks everyone, for reading! Have fun!**

The night was blustery and cold. Freja watched the moon rise over the sea from Rosie's bedroom window before shutting it tightly against the chilly air. She turned slowly to look at her sister. Paleness had crept evermore into Rosie cheeks, and her energy was so drained that all she could manage was to sleep for the whole day. Conversation turned one-sided as Freja sat at her sister's side, watching the uneasy rise and fall of her inflated belly. Every once in a while, Rosie abdomen would fail to rise for several seconds, and Freja would panic, shaking her awake with a gasp.

It happened again. Freja grabbed her sister's arm and yanked it, and Rosie's eyes popped open again, and she choked and inhaled.

"Freja," she sighed, closing her eyes again, "Why do you keep doing that? I'm… I'm just so tired."

Freja clutched Rosie's hand in her own. It was cool and clammy. "I'm sorry. I thought…" her voice trailed off, and she rested her head on the bed, one hand draped over Rosie's belly.

"You're exhausted, too. How long has it been since you slept?"

Freja almost smiled. Even with her life hanging in the balance, her sister still worried for her. She sat up again.

"I'm fine."

Rosie's lips turned up slightly, tiredly, and she placed her hand on Freja's cheek. Not a word was spoken for several minutes. The sisters just sat, looking into each other's eyes. It was strangely comforting.

Then Rosie choked and coughed, doubling over and pulling her hand back to cover her mouth. Her eyes drooped and she slouched back onto the pillows.

Lifting her sister's limp arm and resting her palm on her belly, Freja said, "Just relax, now. Someone is coming to help," and Rosie drifted into an unfit slumber again.

Some time went by, and to Freja it felt like years. She paced back and forth, from the door to the window, to Rosie's side, back to the window. Would this Alazair really come?

Then came three soft knocks at the door. _Knock… knock…knock. _Slow and precise, like they were beating out a deathly rhythm. Then the door open and a man came in. He was wearing a shimmery, silver-gray cloak, which he tossed off upon entering the room. He was not a very large figure, but his presence in the room was definitely felt, and Freja found herself shrinking back from him. He looked up at her with black, weasel-like eyes.

"Your highness," he grunted in greeting. Then he hustled forward and began examining the queen.

Freja crept closer. Alazair was half grumbling, half whistling through his teeth as he worked, placing hand gently on Rosie's temples, feeling her heartbeat, checking her breathing.

"So… do you know what's wrong with her?" Freja asked.

Alazair looked at her in a very perplexed manner.

"No."

Freja blinked. "What do you mean, no? I brought you here to…"

"No," said Alazair again, and he held up a hand to hush her, "But it is not my job to know what is wrong with somebody. Imagine all of the schooling, all of the studying that would require me to do. It is my job to _fix_ them."

"Can you do that?"

"That's what I _live_ for, my dear. Now, let's see…"

Alazair went to his cloak, draped sloppily over a chair, and began digging through it. It must have had a great many pockets, because items kept falling out. Bits of paper with scribbled writing, dried up flower petals, a fat dead beetle, an empty bottle, another bottle with a neon green liquid in it, and a very large blue feather.

"Ah hah!" Alazair exclaimed, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. It looked very old and had a yellow tinge to it, and was burnt slightly around the edges. The miracle worker unfolded it carefully, making sure not to tear the corners, and laid flat on the bed below Rosie's feet.

"It's… it's a map," said Freja. She had been hoping for something a little more, dare she say it, magical.

"Yes, yes. A map of Corona, no less."

"But… how does that…"

"Hush," Alazair cut her off. Freja tried hard not to glare at him. "Now, Highness, I do know of something that can save your sister…"

Freja exhaled as relief washed over her. At last! A cure!

"Great! Can you give it to her?"

"… hold on, I'm not finished. I know of something that can save her, but it's not something that I, myself, possess."

"What? What do you mean? What is this something?"

Alazair wrung his hands before continuing. "It's a flower."

"Like an herb? Some kind of natural remedy?"

"No. Not an _herb_," he said to word with great distaste, like it offended him, "It's a flower of… unusual qualities. It has the ability to heal the sick or injured, and can even go so far as to stop people from dying."

"A… a _magic_ flower?"

Alazair pointed a finger at her in conformation. Great. They were back to magic again. Freja felt her insides writhe as she remembered the icy curse set on Arendelle last year. She shuddered.

Alazair placed a hand on her arm, and his touch surprised her. Unintentionally, she pulled away.

"Your majesty, I can see that you may be cautious about the idea of using the magical arts. But I would like to assure you that not every magic is evil or dangerous. There is great beauty in it, as well."

The miracle man stared pointedly at the queen of Arendelle for a few moments, and Freja could feel herself melting. What choice did she have? For the life of her sister, she would even face that psycho Edvard Beteran a second time. For her sister, she would freeze over a thousand times, with no regrets.

Taking a deep breath, Freja turned to face Alazair.

"Okay. How do we get the flower?"

"The map will show us."

Freja leaned over it expectantly. Alazair clicked his tongue.

"However, _before_ the map will show us, I need something from you."

"Oh, the payment?"

"No. That's later. But in order to make the map work, I need the tears of someone who is in deep sorrow."

"The tears of someone in deep sorrow…" Freja echoed, "You want my tears?"

"Need is the proper word," said Alazair.

"But… I'm not crying."

"Well, I'll give you some time," he pulled out a small, glass vile and handed it to Freja. Then he went and seated himself on the chair in the corner of the room and watched her intently. "Remember," he said, "tears of sorrow."

Unsure of what to do, Freja sat on the edge of Rosie's bed. She looked at Alazair, then at her sister, who had been asleep for the whole ordeal. _Tears of sorrow_. She had to think. And she already knew she wouldn't like what she had to think about.

_Rosie. My beautiful, big sister. Remember the time when we swam out to that island, miles off the shore, and lay in the sun, digging our toes in the sand? I was only twelve then, and you were fourteen, but oh, how I admired you. You fell asleep there, on the beach, but I just watched you and imagined being just like you someday. Remember that night when we stayed up all night, talking about when we had kids of our own, and how they would always play together. I don't know if that will ever happen, now. All of the memories, those precious, precious memories, they're dwindling in the back of my mind. If only you would be here with me when Elsa is born, if only you could be her loving, funny aunt who breaks all the rules and drives me crazy. If only your child and mine could be best friends. If only your child could be born at all. If only you wouldn't die. If only…_

And the tears came, fast and wet, and Freja's face was suddenly sopping. Her hand shook as she held up the vile to her cheek, catching the tears in them. It took only a few seconds for it to be full. She put the cork in and handed it to Alazair without looking at him. Turning to face the window, Freja clutched her belly and shivered with grief. In her mind, she had lost Rosie. She knew it wasn't real. She knew Rosie was alive, but… those thoughts, circling her brain like buzzards. Freja didn't know if they would ever be gone.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and turned back to face Alazair. He stood, holding the vile, at the foot of the bed.

"Ready."

"Now we will discuss payment."

Really? Now? Freja wanted to scream out all of her emotions and nerves and frustration.

"Fine," she said instead, "What do you want?"

Alazair held up the vile and look at it with interest.

"I only need a couple drops to work the map. I would like to keep the rest."

"You want my tears?" She was too tired to wonder. "Okay, whatever. Is that it?"

"No," said Alazair, "I also want to be there when you have the baby."

Freja's attention was caught at that.

"Why on earth…?"

"I want to be there, in the room. I want to hold her. Is there a problem for a person to have an affinity toward the miracle of new human life?"

Shaking her head, Freja sat down and rubbed her eyes. The combination of three solid days of research in the library, plus the stress of Rosie's condition, plus the strain of her own added up to her suddenly feeling very exhausted.

"No, that won't work. I'm sorry, but I don't want you there when I deliver. That is just… I don't know, weird. There has to be something else. As much money as you want."

Alazair stared at her intently. "No. That is my one offer. If you do not want to pay it, that is your problem, but it means I won't be able to complete my work."

"But if we could talk to King Thomas, I'm sure…"

"No!" Alazair said sternly, and Freja startled, "Now, will you take my offer, or not?"

"Umm… I…"

"Fine."

The miracle man grabbed the map off the bed and started to stuff it into his cloak again.

"Wait!" Freja cried. She looked at Rosie, sleeping uneasily. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead and her arms and legs were twitching slightly as the muscles tensed and spasm-ed. This stupid magic flower. Why did it have to be the only thing that would work? Clutching her abdomen, she felt Elsa move inside of her. Her baby kicked hard at Freja's insides. It would still be a few weeks, she told herself. Maybe by then they would be back in Arendelle, and Alazair would have no power to be anywhere near them. Maybe she could just avoid him altogether. She glanced at her beloved sister again, and her mind was made up.

"I'll do it. I'll pay whatever you want. Please, just help me save her."

Smiling in delight, Alazair tossed the map onto the bed again. He whisked the vile out of his pocked, uncorked it, and poured a single drop onto the yellowy parchment.

For a minute, nothing happened. Then a faint glowing sun appeared, gleaming orangey-yellow out of the paper and filling the room with color. It grew in size and intensity, and Freja squinted in its light. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it faded. It shrunk to a small spot of white light, just bigger than a pin head, and traveled along the parchment like an insect, coming to rest on the map drawing of the Cronin Wood, across the channel from the kingdom.

"There!" exclaimed Alazair, grinning proudly, "That is where the flower is! Congratulations, my dear, you have just saved the queen!"


	17. The Lost Princess- In Cronin Wood

**Author's Note:**

**Next chapter! I had fun with this one! Thank you to everyone who has commented/reviewed! It really makes the writing that much more enjoyable and exciting. Planning to update soon!**

* * *

Stellan and Thomas were waiting in the dining hall when Freja found them. Worry was etched over their faces, and they picked at the beautiful meal that the palace staff had laid out before them. As she entered, her head swimming with emotion and exhaustion, the men both stood quickly. Stellan guided her to a chair and sat her down.

"Well? What did he say? Can he help her?"

Freja nodded and pulled out the enchanted map. Pointing to the small, glowing spot of light, she explained:

"It's the Cronin Wood, see? Alazair says that we need to go there to find a magic golden flower of some sort. It will be able to heal Rosie."

"A magic flower? Really?" Thomas said.

Stellan looked worried. Freja knew what he was thinking. _Magic. Not again._

"It's the only way," she said, looking down at her belly.

"Well, then!" Thomas stood, motioning to the guard at the door. "Gather up as many people as you can. Soldiers, townspeople, anyone who is able. We need to find that flower tonight!"

The guard nodded and hurried away. Arching her back, Freja pushed herself out of the chair.

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?" Stellan stopped her.

"To get my cloak. I'm not sitting here doing nothing."

"You haven't had a real rest in three days, Freja. Don't you think we can handle this?"

Freja eyes were hard in his.

"She's my sister, Stellan. I'll be fine."

Her husband took her hand in his own and kissed it, concern filling his face. Freja sighed.

"I'm alright, really. I promise, as soon as we get back I will go right to bed."

Stellan wrapped his arms around her, as if to protect her from the world. In his arms, she felt totally secure. She almost told him about Alazair's demands. But she caught herself. What would be the point, anyways? All it would do is make him even more nervous. With any luck, they would be far across the sea in Arendelle by the time Elsa made her first appearance. Alazair had no power over her. Everything would be fine. _Everything would be fine._

He pulled back and looked down at her. "Alright, but as soon as this is over, it's straight to bed with you, young lady,"

"Yes, sir," Freja grinned.

The clear night air was cool and refreshing, and Freja leaned carefully over the edge of the boat into the channel. The water was black, reflecting the overcast sky, and all that could be heard was the steady _slosh, slosh_ sound of the dinghies working their way through the current and the gentle whooshing of the wind in the small sails. A large brigade of boats was drifting across to the Cronin Woods tonight, full with soldiers, men and women, all intent on finding the miraculous magic golden flower. Freja heart went out to them. These were her people, her wonderful townsfolk of Corona, and tonight they were helping save her sister. She looked across the rowboat to where Stellan sat, regal and upright, his eyes on the shoreline ahead of them. He looked so calm, so perfectly at ease, but Freja could tell by the way his jaw was set, rigid and clenched, that his nerves were wound about as far as they could go. She wondered if he had slept at all, those three awful days. Realizing she hadn't even checked up on him, Freja felt a small pang of guilt. He could be just as exhausted as she was.

"As soon as we get back," she whispered to him, reaching out to hold his hand. Her husband rubbed her palm with his thumb and continued to stare off at the growing woods. They were dark and gloomy-looking in the overcast night. She looked at King Thomas, sitting next to her. He tried to smile sympathetically, but ended up just straightening his mouth a bit. Freja patted his knee. She had a good idea how he was feeling.

The boats were very near the bank now. Freja could tell by the extremely loud chirruping of crickets. In that instant, Freja heard something. Or thought she did. A faint, slow singing, just barely audible over typical nighttime forest noises. She couldn't distinguish words. She didn't even know if the voice was real. But she strained her ears toward the looming wood, and as her boat slid onto the beach, she was sure she heard a young woman's voice.

"Alright, let's move out!" called the commander of the guard as the soldiers and townspeople stepped out of the boats.

Freja grabbed Stellan's arm. "Listen."

But the voice was gone, dissipated into the noise of the people stomping around on the gravely beach, pulling up the dinghies, and chattering as they made their way into the Cronin Wood, armed to the nines with lanterns and torches and candlesticks.

"What? What is it?"

Shaking her head, Freja pulled him along, following the crowds. "Nothing. Never mind." It was probably just her mind playing tricks on her. Heaven knew that she was asking for it by now. She stifled a yawn.

"C'mon," said Stellan, "Let's find that flower."

They had hardly started into the woods when a cry rang out, quite close to them.

"Over here! We found it!"

Suppressing a whoop of delight, Freja ran (or rather, waddled very quickly) toward the voice. A duo of guards were standing near the water's edge. In front of them, a single flower bloomed. It was large and shone bright gold, just like Alazair had described, and it was open to the night sky, as if gazing up at the blackish-gray clouds. A sort of yellow light radiated from the flower. It glowed brightly, like a smaller, less intense version of the sun.

Creeping closer to it, Freja held out her hand and touched one of the petals. They were soft and surprisingly warm.

"This… this is it!"

Thomas made his way through the gathered throng. He nodded at the guards.

"Dig it up."

Shovels and spade came out instantly. Within seconds the magic flower was freed from the dirt. Soil fell away from its roots effortlessly.

They made their way back to the boats. Stellan eased his pregnant wife into her seat again.

"Well," he said, "That was… easy."

"It was, wasn't it? See, I told you I'd be fine."

"Yeah, yeah," her husband sat next to her, putting his arm over her shoulder. Slouching so her head leaned on his chest, Freja listened to the soft churning of water as the boats made their way back to Corona. She closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she told herself. Just until we get back.

* * *

In a dingy inn, the miracle man saw sitting alone at a corner table. The tavern was practically empty tonight. Everyone who was awake at this horribly late hour had left to search for the magic golden flower. The bartender mopped the counter with a sloppy rag, muttering to himself. Alazair grinned. It was nice to have the whole place to himself, for a change. Last time he was here, it was so loud he could hardly hear himself think.

The door swung open. The red-haired man entered, having to turn sideways slightly to get his broad shoulders through the narrow doorframe.

"Carney," Alazair said in greeting. It was as friendly as he could ever be to Carney. The man annoyed him.

"Evenin'! Wow, the place is really cleared out, huh?"

Alazair glared at him, then nodded at an empty chair. Carney sat down quietly, looking embarrassed. He tucked a small telescope into his belt.

"Did they find it?" the miracle man asked, his voice a hiss.

"Yup. Right where you said it would be. They're on their way back across now."

"Good."

"Did you get what you wanted?"

Alazair smirked, narrowing his eyes. "That I did. The Arendelle queen's tears proved it. That child is going to be powerful. More powerful than Beteran, maybe."

Carney whistled loudly, and Alazair gave him a warning look.

"So," Carney whispered, making sure his voice was hardly audible, "She's the one, then?"

"Oh, yes," Alazair hissed, "She's the one."


	18. The Lost Princess- Reunion

**Author's Note:**

**Hi everyone! Hope you are all enjoying this story! I want to thank everyone who commented/reviewed over the last few days. Seriously, it does make writing that much more fun and motivating, knowing that people are actually reading it! I love seeing all of you theorize about what is happening in the comments. Do continue :) **

**Happy reading!**

Freja woke with a start. Sitting up slowly, she tried to place exactly what had disturbed her slumber. She rubbed her eyes. Sleep still hung over her like a raincloud, and her eyelids drooped. Then Elsa's tiny foot kicked the inside of her belly again, and she opened her eyes with a smile. Oh Elsa. Rubbing the spot where she felt her daughter, she hummed softly to her baby girl. She looked around the room. She was in a soft feather bed with maroon decorative pillows strewn about her. Her old room in Corona.

Corona! Rosie! The events of the last few days rushed back into her brain like a tidal wave. Swinging herself off the bed a bit too quickly, she smacked her oversized abdomen on the nightstand. Her body protested viciously to the sudden movement.

"Sorry, Els," Freja groaned, rubbing her aching back.

She waddled out into the hallway. It was empty, like it had been as of late, and still deathly silent. A flood of despair washed over Freja. It didn't work? The flower, Alazair said it would heal her sister! Why was everything so quiet?

Hurrying down the corridor, the worst of the worst possibilities fought their way into Freja's mind. She tried to shake them out. She had held onto her positive attitude, her belief that Rosie would be fine, for this long. There was no point in giving in to fear now. But the emotions poured down on her. _C'mon, Freja, keep it together. Keep in control._ Before she knew it, she was running as fast as a very pregnant woman can run, down the hallway toward her sister's room.

The door was closed. Now that she was here, it seemed so much more ominous to enter. So very, very final. Her hand shook as she reached out to the door. _Knock-knock_. She pressed her palm to the gorgeously crafted woodwork. There was no answer.

"Rosie?" Freja's voice cracked as she spoke.

Silence.

Gulping down air, but still feeling deprived of oxygen, Freja tentatively fingered the door's handle. It was cold to the touch. She pressed down to open it.

A dark room greeted her, devoid of light from the window or anywhere else. Freja squinted into the shadows. Slowly her eyes adjusted. Rosie's bed was empty! The sheets had been stripped off so all that remained was the clean, white mattress. A lump grew in the queen's stomach. She felt like she was going to be sick. Rosie was gone? Oh, why had nobody woken her! Alazair had promised that dumb magic flower would work! Freja felt like her soul was floating miles above her body as she walked slowly out of the room and closed the door. Her eyes were dry, and for some reason that was all she could think about in the instant. She wasn't crying. She could feel anything. She raised a hand and rubbed her face. Her forehead was doused in beads of sweat, and she was cold and clammy. Her eyelids flickered. She was going to pass out.

"Freja!"

Stellan was running towards her. She took a step in his direction, with bricks for feet.

"Freja, you're awake!"

She practically fell into his arms, but resisted when he tried to pull her close.

"You should have wakened me."

"You needed the sleep. Everyone was worried about you. But…"

"Me? Everyone was worried about me? Well, that's comforting," Freja's eyes were angry, and her voice hard. Stellan tried to say something, but she cut him off, "Nobody bothered to be 'worried' about how I would react, knowing Rosie…" her words caught in her throat, and her eyes grew wet.

Her husband took his chance in her silence. "Rose commanded everyone to let you sleep for at least six hours before waking you up. She said you would faint from exhaustion if you got any less than that."

Freja eyes widened. Did he really just say what she thought he did? Stellan face broke out into a wide grin, and she felt her breath quicken in excitement.

"She's… she's alive?" Freja whispered. She was too scared to say it any louder.

"Of course, she's alive!" Stellan's face was suddenly full of empathy when he realized what was happening in her head, "Goodness, Freja, is that what you thought?"

Letting out a small laugh, Freja fell heavily into her husband's shoulder. _Now_ the tears could come. In a matter of seconds his shirt collar was wet.

"She's in the dining hall, now," Stellan continued, massaging Freja's sore back, "Her appetite is incredible. Truly. I've never seen anyone pack away so much food in one sitting."

Freja laughed again, loudly. She had been so convinced, for those few seconds, that she would never laugh again. Now, with the emotions bubbling up inside her, she found it difficult to stand. She was giddy and giggling with relief.

"Can I see her?"

Stellan stuck out his elbow. She looped arm into his and they strode down the hallway, arm in arm.

* * *

"ROSIE!" Freja screeched as they entered the dining hall. Her sister was lounging in a chair, leaning casually over a bowl of pumpkin soup. King Thomas sat very close to her, watching intently as she ate. Rosie looked up and smiling brilliantly.

"Freja!" She stood quickly as her younger sister ran into her arms. The hug was incredibly awkward, taking into account that both women had especially large, pregnant bellies, but it didn't matter. Freja rested her cheek on Rosie's shoulder, smiling as happy tears streamed down her face. She sniffed and wiped them off with her sleeve.

"Sorry," she said, with a grin.

"No, no, it's fine! Did you have a good rest?"

"I… I think so. It's all kind of a blur, really. How long was I out?"

"Ten hours."

"Wow," Freja giggled. She did feel much more alive than she had since they left Arendelle.

Gerty came out of the kitchen carrying a second bowl of pumpkin soup, which she placed on the table in front of Freja. She looked so wonderfully happy that Freja couldn't help but throw her arms around the old woman. Gerty chuckled.

"I thought you would be hungry when you woke up, sweetheart, so I made plenty of food for you both."

"Thank you, Gerty," said Stellan, over Freja's shoulder.

"So, the flower? It worked?" Freja questioned.

"It appears so," answered Thomas, standing and wrapping his strong arms around Rosie's shoulders, "It was amazing to see, really. Gerty boiled it in water to make a broth, but it was unlike anything I've ever experienced. The soup glowed golden, just like the flower. It lit up the room like a lantern, and as soon as Rose started drinking it, the light seemed to flow right into her!" The king smiled and kissed his wife gently. He put a hand down on her belly.

"Do… do you think the baby will be alright?" Freja asked tentatively.

"I felt her kick as soon as the broth went down my throat. It was the most wonderful thing!" Rosie started to tear up a bit, "I hadn't felt her move since I first got sick."

"Her?"

Rosie nodded, "I just feel it."

Freja smiled and hugged her sister again. Stellan hugged Freja, and Thomas hugged Rosie, until at last, all four people (and two unborn baby girls) were in the midst of one giant, group hug.

Freja's muffled voice sounded from inside the pile of warm bodies.

"I love you, Rosie."

"I love you, too, Freja."


	19. The Lost Princess- Rapunzel

**Author's Note:**

**Boy, did I have fun with this chapter. I probably wrote it in about an hour and a half (pretty darn quick for me, I don't know about other people). Hope you all enjoy it! You guys have been great with your reviewing, as of late! Keep it up!**

* * *

The days few by. Now that Rosie was well, the sisters were able to spend their free time together, two extremely pregnant women, running off to have adventures. Life seemed to have backtracked, and they were little princesses of Corona again. (Well, with the exception of the obvious.)

One glorious spring morning, Freja and Rosie took a stroll along the beach along the west side of the island, on which the kingdom sat. A couple of palace guards accompanied them to insure their safety, but Rosie had requested them to trail quite a ways behind. This was sister time. The beach stretched out before them for miles upon miles, and the girls walked slowly and chatted and laughed, digging their toes into the warm sand, and waddling swiftly away as the sea water lapped at their ankles. Freja lost her balance once and fell on her side with a little splash, but she rose, laughing, and they continued on toward their unknown destination.

"I can't believe I haven't asked you this yet," Freja said presently, kicking sand as she walked, "But do you have a name picked for the baby yet?"

The older sister sighed softly and shook her head. "Nothing was sounding right. And then, when I got sick, I stopped thinking about names altogether. I just wanted her to survive."

"Well, then, we should think of one."

Rosie laughed, "Okay, Freja, what do you suggest?"

"Hmm… Margret? We could call her Maggie for short?"

Rosie shrugged.

"Louisa?"

"No. It's pretty, but I knew a girl a few years ago called Louisa. Awful woman. I will _not _name my daughter that."

"Gretel?"

"Eh, maybe. I just don't know."

Freja thought a bit more. One more name stuck out to her.

"What about Anna?"

Her sister tilted her head sideways, like she always did when she was contemplating something.

"I like that one."

"So do I," responded Freja, crossing her arms. "I might not let you use it."

"Why not?"

"Well, I might need it later on!"

Rosie laughed. "Oh, Freja, for the first time in forever, won't you just live in the moment."

Freja rolled her eyes.

They had come to a tall, rocky cliff that rose out of the sand. Yellowy-green dune grass protruded in small patches on the dark colored rock, burrowing their roots into it. Tufts of purple rampion grew along with the grass, the small violet bellflowers casting dots of bright color among the rock.

"That's odd," Rosie stated, looking at the flowers, "Rampion doesn't usually grow this close to the beach. It's usually more inland. Freja?"

Freja was a short ways up the beach, "Check this out!" She called excitedly to her sister.

A giant crack in the rock had been eroded away by the high tide of the ocean. Water had carved it out into a cave.

"Remember when we used to find these when we were kids?" Freja said, "We would pretend we lived in the caves and were mermaids only when the tide came in."

"I remember _you_ slipping in the water and ruining your new dress," Rosie giggled.

Freja narrowed her eyes playfully, "Let's not go there."

The girls wandered into the cave. The tide was low, now, so the sand inside was dry and cool. Looking up, they saw that the cave had a natural skylight, a wide crevice in the cliff that let in the sun.

"Freja…," Rosie's voice was an awestruck whisper, "Oh my!"

Purple rampion flowers had overtaken the cavern. Along the rock walls, they grew so thick that the stone was hardly visible beneath their vibrant color. As the sun came in through the ceiling, it struck the rampion, casting a light purple glow across the sandy floor, and also the two young women that stood there.

Freja could hardly speak. "It's… beautiful," she whispered. It seemed strangely inappropriate to talk any louder, as if this was sacred ground and they were violating some ancient rule by being here.

"My favorite flowers are rampions," Rosie said softly. She stood in the center of the cave, gazing up at the crack of light above them. Spreading her arms, she spun around, laughing. The atmosphere of silence was broken, and Freja joined her, jumping around like a toddler, breathing in deep the sweet smell of the purple flowers.

Rosie placed a delicate hand on a bundle of the plants, admiring them. Suddenly, her fist clenched, ripping the rampion out of their fragile home.

"Rose! What the…" Freja began to scold. But then she saw the look in her sister's eyes. "What?!" She demanded, grabbing Rosie's arm, "What is it?"

"Freja…" Rosie said, drawing out her baby sister's name nervously, "My water broke!"

Freja jaw fell open. She looked at her sister, her mind completely blank. What was she supposed to do now?

"Freja!" Rosie shouted.

"Right! Okay, it's gonna be fine!" She snapped out of her trance and ran to the entrance of the cave. The two guards who had been tailing them… where were they? Her eyes darted around the beach desperately. Oh, there they were.

"Help! Help!" They ran over immediately.

"You highness! What's wrong?"

Freja motioned them into the cave, where Rosie was sat down in the sand, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"Um, the baby's coming," Freja blurted.

The guards looked uneasily at each other. "We… we should get you back to the castle."

"No time for that," Rosie groaned, "It took us, what, two hours to walk here?"

"If we run, we'd get you home in under thirty minutes," said the other guard. He was very young, with hardly a whisker of facial hair to be seen on his baby face. Freja raised her eyebrows in amusement, looking at Rosie and imagining the two of them racing down the beach, giant bellies bouncing up and down. She laughed as the first guard, who was quite a bit more grown up than the boy, rolled his eyes and elbowed his young apprentice in the hip.

"I don't think that will work out very well," said Freja, sympathetically, then an edge of command came into her voice. She had learned to show command over recent years. Being a queen, she found it came in useful, "We need to get Thomas here as soon as possible. And a physician. One of you needs to run back to the castle and get help."

"I'll go," said the boy. He looked rather red in the face and itching to get out of that cave, surrounded by pregnant ladies.

"Good," Freja said, "What's your name?"

"Frederick."

Rosie groaned from behind Freja. Her eyes were wide with concern and discomfort.

"Fine, then, run as fast as you can, Frederick!"

The young guard tore off down the beach like he was being chased by the boogie man.

"Freja…" came Rosie's strained voice.

"Hey, there," her sister plopped down in the sand beside her, "It'll be just fine. The physician will be here before you know it. Don't worry about a thing."

"I… I think the baby's coming."

"Yeah, thanks, Rose. I kinda got that."

"No, I mean now!" she let out a frail, tight screech and grabbed fistfuls of sand.

Freja's cool composition vanished.

"Wait, what!? What do you mean, now? It's too soon!" her breathing started to quicken. This couldn't be happening. "I don't know how to deliver a baby! My niece is not going to be born on some stupid beach!"

"Freja," Rosie's voice was suddenly surprisingly calm and firm, "Stop freaking out, unless you want to go into labor yourself."

Freja gulped and tried hard to stop hyperventilating.

"Look around," her sister commanded, "Look at this place! This has got to be one of the most gorgeous places in Corona! Why shouldn't my baby be born here? It's incredible! And who better to bring her into the world than you, my little sister, who I know will be the best, most loving auntie ever, and always break all the rules I set for her? Freja, you need to stop doubting yourself. You can do anything."

The seriousness of Rosie's words hit Freja square in the chest. She looked at her sister, sitting there in the sand, about to give birth to a brand new life. She didn't even appear to be scared anymore. Confidence bubbled up inside Freja. Standing up and dusting the sand off her knees, she turned to the remaining guard.

"Do you have any water?"

He nodded and held out his canteen.

Freja settled herself next to Rosie. Her sister clenched her teeth again and scrunched her eyes shut, and a small squeak escaped her lips.

"Another contraction?"

She nodded.

Clutching her sister's hand, and almost yelling when Rosie squeezed it too hard, Freja directed her, "Don't forget to breathe, Rose."

* * *

King Thomas whistled his horse onward. The poor creatures was already galloping as fast as its legs could carry it, but Thomas felt like they were moving at a crawl as they raced along the beach, one of the physicians to his left, and Stellan flanking his right. The deep sand of the beach was difficult for the horses to run on, so they were close to the water, galloping along the damp, compact sand, and getting sprayed by salt water when the small waves drifted in. Thomas's horse panted heavily. How did two pregnant women get so far out here, in the first place?

"I should have never let them come out here," Thomas called back to Stellan.

"Like you really had a choice!" his brother-in-law shouted back.

Wasn't that the truth.

A minute later, a giant cliff of rock was looming ahead of them. Stellan pointed at it, and Thomas nodded.

"Rose!" he yelled as he neared the cliff. He could see the cave entrance that the young guard had told him about.

"Rose!" Stellan echoed him, "Freja!"

Freja appeared at the cave entrance. She was grinning from ear to ear, her face practically glowing. Thomas swung off his horse so hastily that he very nearly fell down in the sand, with Stellan close behind him. The poor physician was still a short ways down the beach, frantically commanding his horse to catch up to the two kings.

Thomas ran to Freja, his breathing heavy.

"Is… is… she…?" he just left it at that.

Freja raised her shoulder and smiled like she had a secret. Then she put a finger to her lips and beckoned the men inside. Their eyes widened at the sight that awaited them. There, glowing purple and surrounded by hundreds of brightly colored flowers, was Queen Primrose of Corona, sitting in the sand, holding her newborn daughter in her arms. Rosie smiled brilliantly as Thomas entered the cave. Her husband kneeled next to her. The baby was tiny! A fluff of bright golden hair stood up on top of her head. Every finger, every toe, every feature of her minute, detailed face was absolutely perfect.

Freja walked over to stand next to Stellan, smiling up at him in pride. He chuckled and put and arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side.

"Good job," he whispered in her ear.

Everything was completely still and tranquil. The sound of waves could be heard, splashing down on the beach outside. Birds were singing. The rampions caught the breeze that drifted through the opening in the cave and up through the ceiling crevice, and they whistled delicately. Everyone's attention was focused on the tiny bundle that Rosie cradled in her arms.

Freja looked at Thomas. The king was on the verge of tears.

"Aren't you going to tell them her name?" she said softly.

Rosie grinned. She gestured up at the purple bellflowers that surrounded them. "Did you see the rampions?"

Thomas's face fell slightly. "Oh, Rose, please tell me you didn't name our daughter Rampion."

The queen laughed, and the baby stirred with a small wail. Her eyes opened. They were bright green.

"Rapunzel!" Rosie said, stroking the tiny princess's golden fluff of hair, "Her name is Rapunzel."

* * *

High above the kings and queens and child gathered in the cave, a figure stood on the cliff top. She wore a deep scarlet cloak, clutched tightly around her frail body. Wisps of light gray hair sprung out from under her hood in tight curls as she peered through the natural skylight, watching the celebration that was happening below. Her eyes fixed on the new princess with the beautiful golden hair. Scrunching her wrinkled face up in a distasteful pucker, the old woman twirled around, stalking back into the forest from whence she came.


	20. The Lost Princess- Nightmares

**Author's Note: Dun-dun-duuuuuuun**

**Yep, that's all I've got after writing this piece. Enjoy! **

**Don't forget to review!**

A high-pitched screech pierced the nighttime air. Freja jumped up in bed, her eyes wide. What was that? Silence hung on the air like poison gas, thick and heavy and warm, and despite taking several deep breaths, Freja still felt like she was suffocating. Her lungs burned. She stared at the clock across the bed. It showed 2:36, the pendulum tick-tocking back and forth, back and forth. Her eyes followed it for several minutes, transfixed by the steady movement.

Suddenly, another scream sliced though the darkness. Freja was hyperventilating, breathing so quickly that she felt dizzy. She stuck her arm out, reaching to Stellan, but her husband's warm body was not there. A panic rose in the queen's chest. She craned her neck to peer out the open window, which let in an uncomfortably warm breeze. Why was it so hot in the middle of the night? Why was the window open? She had seen Stellan shut and lock it before they went to sleep. The hairs on the back of Freja's neck and arms started to rise. She felt something, someone in the room. Someone evil. She saw Edvard Beteran's face in her mind's eye, and shivered despite the humidity in the room.

A shadow flashed across the wall opposite her, and Freja flinched. She reached down, her arms flailing, to clutch her belly. Elsa. She would give her life to keep her daughter safe. But her hands found now huge abdomen to hold. She looked down. Her stomach was flat again. That was not what caused her jaw to fall open in horror. Her nightgown was crimson in the moonlight. Red with blood. Her own blood? Freja felt her face grow cold. Elsa's blood?

The shadow dashed across the room again, and this time, Freja leapt out of bed, feeling heavier than she ever did when she was pregnant. The creature, or ghost, or whatever it was, stood at the open window, it's body nothing but a black silhouette. Then Freja saw that it was not a shadow. It was a man. A small, weasel-faced man with black eyes. A man that looked a great deal like Alazair. And in the figures arms, a bundle of pink skin.

"ELSA!" Freja screamed at the top of her lungs. She was running toward the window with every ounce of strength inside of her. But her body was useless, moving like molasses across the bedroom.

"ELSA! NO!"

The kidnapper started to turn away, but all at once Freja could run again. She sprinted at him with lightning speed, her eyes fixed on the child he was holding. It was only when she was practically on top of them did she see the face of the baby. The infant looked up at her with big blue eyes. She opened her mouth to cry out, and Freja reached forward to grab her away from the man. Then she screamed. Instead of pink baby gums, sharp fangs protruded from Elsa's mouth. The child's eyes narrowed, and she let out a high-pitched screech at her mother.

Only then did Freja realize that she was still running full speed across the room, toward the open window. She saw it coming. Her feet didn't respond to her urges to halt. As she closed in on Alazair, the miracle man stepped aside and the queen ran right off of the balcony. She felt weightless for several seconds. Floating through the air, she looked down at the ground. The citizens of Corona stood below her, each person holding a flaming torch in their hand, looking up at her with strange smiles on their faces. And down Freja fell, toward the bright orange fire below. Elsa's strange scream cut through the air once more and Freja's world went black.

* * *

Freja sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath as a loud cry rang through the castle. The room around her was pitch black. Groping desperately for her belly, she felt Elsa kick and a heavy sigh escaped her. She blinked a few times in the darkness, her eyes adjusting. Stellan was snoring next to her. The air was cool. The window was shut. The clock across the room read 4:52.

In that instant, a screech pierced the darkness, and Freja's whole body tensed. Then she relaxed. Rapunzel. Slipping silently out of the bed, as to not wake her husband, Freja felt her way across the floor to the doorway and exited into the hall. Rosie stood a ways away, looking out the big, paned windows, cradling Rapunzel in her arms. Her sister was rocking back and forth slowly, and humming. When Freja approached, she let out a small gasp in surprise.

"Sorry," Freja whispered.

Her sister cracked a smiled, then yawned. "She woke up just about every hour."

"Yikes. Novelty's gonna wear off in no time, I think."

"Nah," said Rosie, looking down at her newborn daughter with admiration, "Did we wake you up? Sorry."

"No, you didn't," Freja responded. The dream came flooding back into her mind. It had temporarily been wiped for her brain, the way dreams are when we first wake up. Elsa's gleaming white fangs imprinted themselves on her mind's eye, and Freja shivered.

"What's wrong?" Rosie asked. She was looking at her baby sister with worry etched across her face.

"It's nothing," Freja said casually, "Just a dream."

"A nightmare?"

How did she know that? Freja nodded.

"I used to get them, too, when I was pregnant. I think it's the hormones. And the anticipation."

Freja shrugged. No words came to mind.

"Want to talk about it?" Rosie said. Her eyes were soft and safe.

"Not really…" How could she even begin to tell her sister about what she was feeling? This hadn't been a normal nightmare. Freja was now genuinely worried about the miracle man, Alazair. What did he want with Elsa? She pictured him standing in her room, holding her newborn child, smiling wickedly down at her. A chill ran through her veins.

"It's just…" she began. Rosie immediately turned to face her, listening intently, "I'm worried about Elsa."

"That's normal," her sister said with a smile, "Don't worry. You will be a great mother."

"I want to keep her safe!"

"And you will! Nothing's going to happen, Freja, I promise!"

"How can you promise something like that?" Freja's eyes narrowed, accusingly.

Rosie looked slightly taken aback. She reached out with her free hand and touched Freja's arm. "Why do you think something will happen?"

Freja looked at the ground. Anyone else she wouldn't tell. Anyone else she would just fib and hold in her emotions, let them think everything was fine. But this was Rosie, and she couldn't do that to her sister.

"I… I might have done something."

"What?" Rosie's face hardened.

"It… I… I couldn't let you die, Rose! I just had to tell him something! I needed him to show me how to save you!"

"Freja, you tell me what you are talking about. Right now!"

Freja was sobbing. Bouncing Rapunzel on one arm, with the other wrapped around her sister, Rosie spoke softly to her.

"I'm sorry. It's okay. You can tell me. It's going to be fine. Just, what's going on? Who's 'him'?"

"Alazair," sniffed Freja, "He was the one who told us how to get the magic flower that healed you. But he asked for payment!"

Rosie's voice darkened. "What did you give him?"

"Nothing! Well, my tears, but… Oh, Rosie, he demanded to be there when Elsa is born! What does that mean? He said he just wants to hold her, but… in my dream… I don't trust him, Rosie. I don't like him, and I don't trust him at all. I don't want him anywhere near my daughter!"

"Okay," said Rosie soothingly, brushing Freja's brown hair back behind her ear. "Then he won't ever lay a finger on her. She's safe. You both are."

Freja was quiet for several minutes. Finally, she said, "I… I think it would be best if Stellan and I returned to Arendelle. I wish we could stay for longer. You know I do. But… I really just want to be as far away from him as possible until Elsa is born."

Rosie nodded, "I understand, Freja. Your child's safety is more important than your visiting Corona in my mind as well. If that's what you think is best, then that's what you must do."

Pulling her sister close to her, with her niece in the middle of them, Freja hugged Rosie softly. Warmth and love and acceptance rolled over her like a warm breeze, and for the first time that night, Freja felt completely that everything would work out.

"Thank you," she breathed in her sister's ear, "I'll talk to Stellan. We can stay one more day, then leave tomorrow morning."

**Author's Note (again):**

**Hold up, I'm back! I just realized that this chapter is the 20th chapter for The Arendelle Chronicles! Woot woot! That's like, enough to have a special feature chapter to celebrate or something. Hmm. I'll have to think about that. Anywasy... ttfn! (ta-ta for now)**


	21. The Lost Princess- The Plot

**Author's Note: Thanks everyone for your patience as I gathered my thoughts before the writing the next chapter. I am honestly making up every chapter as I come to it, so I have just as much of an idea about how this story will end as any of you readers! Also, thank you for everyone who is leaving such great, encouraging reviews! They are so motivating! This is the longest thing I have ever written and I think it's mainly because it's the first piece I've actually gotten so much feedback on. You guys are awesome! Hope you enjoy the next chapter. Last minute, I decided to shake things up a bit. Happy reading!**

The kingdom of Corona woke gradually as the sun edged its way over the horizon. Sleep still hung on the air as the peddlers and shopkeepers rubbed their eyes and made their way to their various businesses. But one figure amongst the drowsy crowd was wide awake.

The six-year-old boy ran and skidded through the tired businesspeople, ducking under crates, leaping over planters, and slightly upsetting a window-washer setting up his high ladder. A torrent of foul language descended on him as he dashed away, leaving the window-washer gripping onto a building and struggling to steady the ladder with his legs. It wasn't until the child neared the town center that he slowed his pace, walking casually toward the baker's shop. The bread maker was just opening his counter, the freshly baked loaves and pastries catching the noses of everyone walking by. Creeping up to the open window, with the bread sitting on the shelf, the six-year-old took a deep sniff, his mouth watering. He glanced around him. Most everyone in the town center at this early hour was very busy setting up shop for the new day. No one would ever notice a dusty, brown-haired boy borrowing a few loaves of bread.

He reached up a small hand, steady and confident. He knew what he was doing. With one more quick look around, the boy snatched a hot loaf from the countertop. He stuffed it immediately in his shirt, blowing his hands to cool them. Then he grabbed another. Taking a large bite, he thrust that one into his clothing as well, the tears nearly welling up in his eyes from the heat of the bread in his mouth. Wrapping his arms around his now bulging shirt, the boy skipped away, leaving the poor baker none the wiser.

He sprinted back through the town, his feet slapping the ground hard as he ran down the winding, cobblestoned road. Most other children would get worn out long before, but he was used to this. Through the blue-green roved houses he ran, flying toward the bottom of the hill on which Corona sat. He could just see his destination now: a small house with its front facing the alley. From the outside, it looked very similar to all the other homes in the kingdom, except that its aqua paint was a bit faded. But the little boy knew that on the inside, the house was lacking. He jumped up the steep front steps in a single leap, pushing the door open with a very loud _bang_ as he smacked his meager body weight into it.

"Eugene!" his mother cried out, throwing up her hands in surprise and dropping a bowl of yellowy-brown mash. The food splattered all over the dusty floor. On perfect queue, the boy look small and extremely guilt-stricken.

The woman sighed, holding her knees as she bent over to wipe up the spill.

"Why? Why do you have to enter a room like that, Eugene? Wouldn't it be easier to just open the door? And now look. Our breakfast is ruined!" she sat down heavily on the floor, placing a damp hand on her forehead. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Little Eugene walked over and patted his mother gently on the top of her head.

"It'll be okay," he piped, then pulled out the loaves of bread from behind his back with a grin.

His mother's jaw dropped.

"Eugene Fitzherbert, where did you get that bread?"

"From the bakers."

"Did the baker _give_ you the bread, Eugene?"

The little boy kicked at the food-splattered kitchen floor. He looked up sheepishly at his mother.

"Sorry," he said, and tears welled up in his mother's eyes. She looked around at their breakfast on the ground, then at the bread. Eugene's belly rumbled loudly and he looked at the bread as well. The woman sighed sadly and pulled her son to her, looking him square in his beautiful brown eyes.

"It's okay, darling. But open the door a little quieter next time you come in. Can you do that for me?"

Eugene smiled and tossed his arms around his mother, squashing the bread between their bodies.

"Can we eat now?" he asked, his eyes fixed on his prize.

"Yes," his mother grinned, breaking one of the loaves in half, "Let's eat."

They were about to shove their new breakfast into their mouths when a loud rap on the door made them both jump. Eugene leapt up to answer it.

"Wait," said his mother, stuffing the stolen bread into one of the many bare cupboards in the kitchen. Then, "Okay."

The door was opened and a large man with a scruffy red beard entered. His voice was gruff and calm as he spoke to the woman, and although he was talking to her, his eyes went right through both her and the boy.

"I'm here for Clyde."

"Well, I'm his wife, Marta," said Eugene's mother, placing her hands on her hips and taking a step in front of her son.

"Carney," the man nodded. He just stood there, staring at Marta and Eugene for a minute. At last, she walked to the window and opened it, calling out into the garden. The sound of someone chopping wood drifted in through the window.

"Clyde! There's someone here for you!"

"Who's it?" came the reply.

"Some fellow called Carney."

The chopping stopped immediately. Within seconds, Eugene's father stood in the doorway, dirty and sweaty from his chore.

"Mornin', Mr. Fitzherbert," said Carney curtly.

Without a word, Clyde gestured for the other man to join him in the study. Or what would have been a study, if there were any furniture at all in it. Currently, it was just a small empty room, the floor covered in dust. As he closed the door, Clyde saw the faces of his wife and son. They looked frightened of this man. And they should be. He closed his eyes for a second, then turned to face Carney.

"So? What do you want?" he demanded roughly.

Carney smirked, "Gee, thanks, nice to see you too. How long has it been?"

"Not long enough."

"Well, you're the one putting up ads and flyers and all sorts of things, offering to work. Times are rough around here, eh? And you really should work on how you communicate with possible employers."

"Whatever the job is, I doubt it's legal. I have a family now, Carney! I can't…" Clyde was cut off when Carney pulled out a heavy-looking bag. He tossed it from one hand to the other, the contents jingling. Then he tossed it to Clyde.

"There's more where that came from. Plenty more. Enough to buy your family food for a decade or so, plus some actual beds. Clothes for the boy. Medicine for your wife."

Clyde's eyes flashed as he shot a look at Carney.

"Oh, I noticed she looked a little pale. Probably from lack of nutrients. You know, the whole eyes-sunken-in look. It's what happens to really hungry people."

"We get by," Clyde growled.

"Oh, I can see that," mused Carney, "Listen, about the job. It _may_ be a tad on the less legal side of things. But nothing you do will hurt anybody. We just need some information."

Clyde felt the bag of coins in his hand. "What kind of information?"

Carney took a step closer and lowered his voice a notch. "Right now, the queen's sister is visiting."

"Queen Freja, yeah."

"Right. Well, we need to know when she's leaving to go back to Arendelle. And also, we need to be informed as soon as she has her baby."

"Why?"

"It's just a simple little robbery, Clyde. Nothing to worry about. Those royals have more power than they know what to do with as it is. What's taking a little weight off of their hands, eh?"

"But, why do you need to know about…" Clyde began.

"It's not in your job description to ask questions," Carney snapped. He grabbed the bag of money from out of Clyde's hand and held it up, swinging it back and forth by the string.

"You will get three times what is in here if you take the job. So, are you in or not? This is my last offer."

In the few seconds before Clyde agreed and snatched the bag back, several things ran through his mind. First, he thought about Carney. Back when they knew each other, Carney was a simple thief. Was he still that harmless? Clyde didn't know, but something had changed in the man's eyes. They were darker, haunted-looking. He thought about the queen, Freja. He really knew nothing about her, other than she used to be the Princess of Corona. Now she was the Queen of Arendelle. Sounds like a pretty good life in the lap of luxury. He thought of Marta and how sickly she had been looking lately. He thought of Eugene, his little boy who went to sleep on the floor every night with a growling stomach. And he thought about the money, and how much food and clothing it could buy for his family. Three seconds passed before Clyde Fitzherbert stuck out a stiff arm to his new employer.

"Done."


	22. The Lost Princess- The Welcome

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry about the delay! This seems to be a relatively slow chapter, but those are sometimes the hardest to write. Anyways, hope to update soon! Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 10

"Here we are, ladies! Lunch!"

Thomas and Stellan entered the dining hall, their arms laden with large platters of food. Warm sandwiches, soup, and assorted pastries steamed as the men dropped the plates on the table in front of their wives.

"Wow! Looks beautiful!" Rosie said, smacking her lips and grabbing a cube of cheese off a plate. She had put Rapunzel down to nap only a few minutes ago.

Freja smiled sideways up at Stellan. "And you men made this feast all by yourselves, did you?"

"Yep!" said Thomas.

"Mostly," said Stellan.

Freja giggled. She could still hear the kitchen staff in the next room, tidying up dishes and talking in hushed tones. Shaking her head, Freja reached out and took her husband's hand in hers.

"My love, you are simply too good to me."

"I know," Stellan said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

Freja dug into the wonderful meal. She stopped after just a few bites. She felt hungry, as usual, but for some reason the thought of food turned her off. Taking a small nibble off the corner of a sandwich, she sat back in the chair, resting her arms on her abdomen.

"Sorry, I don't have much of an appetite."

Rosie cast a sideways glance at her sister.

"It's nothing!" Freja said firmly. She turned to Stellan, "How's the packing going?"

"It's being worked on right now. There will be no problems leaving tomorrow, I am sure."

Freja sighed. Her nightmare had shaken her to the core, but now it seemed just that. A nightmare. Nothing more.

The afternoon was quiet and peaceful. Rapunzel slept while Thomas, Rosie, Stellan, and Freja lounged on the soft chairs that had been moved out onto the balcony. The sun was soft and warm in the sky, and a gentle breeze cooled their skin as they soaked in the light. No one felt much like doing anything besides relaxing. After all, there was a new baby in the castle. They had to take rest when they could get it. Rapunzel woke up a few hours later and Rosie carried her out to the family, laying her softly in Freja lap.

"There you go," she grinned, "Practice."

Willing to oblige, Freja laughed and cuddled her niece. She ran her fingers through her fluffy golden hair, noticing that it had grown to nearly covering her peach-fuzz head.

"Was her hair always this long?" Freja asked.

Rosie looked over at them, her face quizzical. "No. I was wondering about that myself. It seems to be growing very quickly, doesn't it?"

"Well, maybe that's just how it works. I don't know. I've never had a baby before."

Stellan laughed, "Well, you'd better get used to it."

His wife grinned at him, "Same goes for you! Here you go! Practice!" Rapunzel switched hands.

Freja watched as Stellan looked down at the baby princess, his eyes full of emotion. She couldn't wait to see him as a father. She felt Elsa kick, and rubbed her belly.

Thomas watched his daughter as lights danced in his eyes, "I'm sure her hair is just growing so well because she's healthy."

"Yes, you are!" Stellan cooed to Rapunzel, bouncing her softly up and down, "You're just a big, healthy girl, aren't you? You are! Beautiful little girl!"

"Umm, Stellan," Rosie said carefully, "I just fed her so… you should be…"

_Blech_. "Oh, great."

"…careful."

Freja laughed freely as Stellan wiped spit up from his shirt, making a face.

"Thank you for your lovely gift, darling," he said to Rapunzel, "But I think it's time Auntie Freja took over," he leaned close to the baby's face and whispered, "Maybe once more? Just for her?" and handed Rapunzel back to his wife.

Thomas stood, his large frame blocking the sun from Rosie's eyes.

"I have an idea," he said, "It's tradition to do something special to celebrate the birth of a princess. We need to do something the people of Corona can see and remember. Here's what I propose. Tonight is your last night, Stellan and Freja, in Corona. Why don't we have a launch?"

"Oh! What a marvelous idea!" Freja exclaimed, while her sister applauded at the thought.

Stellan was the only person who looked confused, "Sorry, what's a launch?"

"It's an old Coronian tradition! Only happens on special occasions, usually. We release flying lanterns into the sky, just as soon as the sun goes down! It's one of the most beautiful things on the planet!"

Rosie smiled as Freja handed the baby back to her and waddled to the edge of the balcony, looking out over Corona.

"It will be a welcome fit for our Princess Rapunzel!"


	23. The Lost Princess- Elsa

**Author's Note: **

**So, I just wanted to clarify, I _am_ aware that this chapter may not follow Tangled 100%, mainly because Rapunzel looks to be closer to a 1-year-old when the lantern is launched in her honor. But I thought that maybe Disney just didn't want to put her as a newborn. I work with babies, and when they are only two days old they honestly aren't all that exciting. (Beautiful, though!) But it seemed kind of strange that they would release a lantern to celebrate her birth after she had been with them for a year. Anyways, that being said, here's the new chapter!**

The sun was mere inches above the horizon when Freja felt it.

"No…" she whispered to herself. And to her daughter, "Not yet."

She had been experiencing some discomfort since lunchtime, but now it was more precise and growing in intensity. Standing on a low balcony overlooking the square, Freja could see the flicker of light that was Thomas's candle spark into existence below her. Oh, how she had loved watching the launch when she was a child! It really was one of the most beautiful things she had ever witnessed. Although this evening they were only releasing a single lantern, a tribute to the new princess, Freja remembered seeing the evening skies filled with the floating lanterns, flooding Corona in warm, colorful light.

Gripping the hand railing of the balcony to steady herself, Freja clenched her jaw and tried to focus on the ceremony that was taking place. Thomas was holding the lit candlestick, eagerly watching and waiting for the sun to slip below the horizon. Rosie stood, holding little Rapunzel, whose hair seemed to be growing even as they stood there. Could that be possible? Freja wondered. She dismissed her thoughts as Stellan walked over to join her, the same time another fist of mild pain dug into her abdomen. Her fingers tightened on the railing. Freja found herself staring off into the dusk, but she wasn't seeing anything, not the joyfully lit kingdom or the oncoming nighttime festival. The pain wasn't bad, really, but the fact that she was feeling it at all sent shivers down her spine. _Not yet. Oh, please. I'm not ready_._ We're not home. _

"You okay?" Stellan was staring at her face, which Freja quickly checked. No. She wasn't going into labor yet. No need to alarm anyone.

"Yeah, why?"

"You look…" Stellan began, and then stopped. Freja was wearing a lovely, light blue dress that showed off just how pregnant she was. Rosie had pulled up her hair and braided and twisted it so that it was piled elegantly on her head.

"… gorgeous," he finished with a smile.

Freja grinned back up at him and snuggled against his side. He felt warm and solid, and very safe.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, and a cheer went up from the crowd as Rosie walked forward a few paces, turning to show Rapunzel off. And to show the princess her people. Freja smiled. She imagined the looks on her own people's faces when she introduced Elsa for the first time. Of course, they would love her. How couldn't they?

Thomas held the wick of the candle up to the bottom of the lantern. It was a simple but elegant golden one with a painted symbol of the sun on its side. As the king lit it, the lantern started to glow, beautiful and bright, like a small yellow star. Together, the king and queen of Corona lifted the lantern, and as the air inside become warm, it rose on its own like a tiny hot air balloon. Rapunzel, who had been awake (surprisingly) and alert for the whole ceremony, held a small fist in the air. She was most likely stretching, but from Freja angle it looked as though she were waving as her lantern flew off into the dusk.

The audience watched in still silence for only a few moments, then broke out in happy applause, cheering for their new princess. Freja watched as the floating lantern grew smaller and smaller. The small amount of wind present that afternoon had died down, and the lantern rose straight up into the air. It was nearly at the top of the castle, glowing brightly, when Freja doubled over, gasping.

That was a big one.

"Freja!" Stellan grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

He watched as she clutched her abdomen and leaned heavily against the railing, wincing.

"Freja…" her husband said her name in a way that made her wonder why she ever hid anything from him. He could see right through her, "…how long since they started?"

She looked down at her feet. Why couldn't she just keep up with the denial? Why couldn't she just hold off on giving birth until they got back home to Arendelle? Freja answered the questions in her mind: _I can deny it all I want. It won't stop her from coming. And there is no way I could hold off for a week on a boat._ The thought of being on the ship, rocking back and forth, made her feel nauseous.

"A couple hours," she said to Stellan.

"Why on earth wouldn't you tell anyone? Why wouldn't you tell me? Our daughter is about to be born, and you're acting like you don't want her to be!"

Freja's eyes narrowed, then started to fill with tears. Oh gosh, she was so tired of being this emotional! "I'm… I'm so scared, Stellan!"

He wrapped his arms around her immediately. "You have nothing to worry about. The pregnancy went completely normal. Elsa's going to be fine! And you're going to be an amazing mother!"

Freja felt like she had been punched in the gut, along with the contractions. She shook her head. Then she spilled. She told Stellan everything about Alazair and his proposal, that she had taken it, about her talk with Rosie, and why she had wanted to leave in the morning. Her husband listened in stunned silence, and appeared to be so shocked that Freja half expected his jaw to drop. It didn't.

"You… you told him that?" Stellan said in a dark tone, "That he could be there? Freja, he could have any number of horrible plans…"

"I know! I… I just wanted to save Rosie! That was all I could think about. And now… Stellan, I don't want him anywhere near Elsa!"

Another large contraction ripped through her body, and Freja gritted her teeth, her knuckles white as they clenched the hand rail. She felt like something monstrous was inside her, gnawing its way. Her mind flashed back to the vision of Elsa in her dream. She shook the image out of her head.

Stellan pried her hands from the rail and held them tightly, grimacing slightly as she squeezed them hard.

"He won't touch her, Freja. You have my word. Now, I think you've delayed this long enough. Come on. Let's get you inside. At least one of Corona's princesses will give birth in its castle."

The birthing room was meant to be relaxing and cozy, Freja knew, but it didn't feel that way at all. It seemed far too cramped. It was originally one of the smaller bedrooms that had been converted to make way for Rosie's birth. Obviously, she had failed to take advantage of it. The walls were a calming ocean blue, and soft green drapes hung on the windows. The bed had been stripped of all bedding with the exception of a large, dark colored blanket. _To hide the blood?_ Freja thought as she settled herself onto it. Her mind drifted to Alazair's cold smile. According to his plans, he was to be here when Elsa was born. In this very room as she took her first breath. Then again, she had never, ever planned on inviting him in. How would he know? Spies? Magic? Anyone could be a danger to them! She scolded herself. She had to stop thinking like this. For crying out loud, her daughter was about to be born!

Her daughter! _Elsa!_ Suddenly, Freja felt herself growing very giddy with nerves and anticipation. How on earth was she so focused on everything that could go wrong that she forgot about the miracle that was about to take place! She was about to meet her daughter! Excitement coursed through her. Excitement mixed with something else. Why was she so afraid?

Rosie entered with Rapunzel and sat on the edge of the bed, her face glowing as she smiled at her little sister.

"How are you doing?"

Freja shrugged. Physically, she felt about to explode in a heap of bloody red pain. Emotionally, she felt like she would lose all dignity and break down into sobs any second now. Mentally, she felt on the verge of a psychotic break. Yes. A shrug was all she could manage.

"It'll be okay," Rosie said, patting Freja arm in simultaneous motion to her opposite hand patting Rapunzel's back. She looked around the fully furnished birthing suite, "Besides, you've got it a lot easier than I did!"

Freja cracked a smile and Rosie knew it was all her sister could do not to think about the miracle man and the threat he posed.

The door swung open and Freja jumped, then relaxed as Stellan walked toward her.

"You're glistening, my love," he said with admiration.

"It's sweat."

"Yeah, but you make it look so good!"

Freja stifled a laugh as a contraction gripped her. She clutched Stellan with one hand and Rosie with the other. The contraction lasted for several minutes, then dropped off suddenly, and Freja gasped and released her captives. Thomas inched into the room slowly, eyeing the trio on the bed.

"It's fine," Freja told him, "You can come in."

"I've positioned two guards at the door. We won't be bothered, I assure you," the king spoke.

Freja's breath quickened. Would a mere two guards be enough? This was a miracle man they were talking about. She looked at Stellan, and her husband rubbed her back softly.

"Stellan…"

He knew what was going through her mind. He had seen the same look in her eyes back in the fall when she had been threatened by the Ice Lord. Point blank terror, hidden under layers of calm disposition, guarded by her forced lightheartedness. Stellan's eyes shifted downward, motioning Freja to follow his gaze. The King of Arendelle's sword leaned against his knee.

Freja let out a whimpering sigh. Stellan. She really didn't deserve him. But she knew and trusted him to protect her, and to protect Elsa. No matter what.

Another contraction. More hands subjected to very hard squeezing.

The minutes rolled by painfully slow, but quickly at the same time. A quiet filled the little room. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting and watching for the precious moment. Everything seemed to happen in short little chapters.

Several contractions, one after the other. Freja thought she was going to vomit.

Mathias, one of the court physicians, entered gradually and prepared for the birth.

Stellan held Freja's hand tightly, telling her to breath. In, out, in, out.

More contractions. Or one big one. Freja couldn't tell anymore. She felt like her body was disconnected from her mind, and she was floating up above, not able to feel or hear anything.

Mathias's mouth moved. Freja hardly heard a word he said, but she guessed it. It was time to push.

Then came a very unpleasant sensation through which Freja really remembered nothing but her own screaming. Stellan stood over her, looking a bit worried, and clutching her hand just about as hard as she was squeezing his.

Then, in the next instant, a new scream pierced the air. Not a painful scream, but a beautiful, new life kind of shriek that only comes from a pair of perfectly formed but yet untested lungs. Freja flopped back, exhausted, on the bed and listened to the sound._ Elsa._

Opening her eyes, Freja took a deep breath. Stellan was holding someone precious, a beautifully tiny bundle, and he was crying.

"What? What's wrong?" Freja whispered.

Stellan laughed and leaned forward to place the bundle on Freja chest. "Nothing. Nothing at all. She's perfect."

As her daughter was rested on her chest, Freja had to agree.

"Oh, Elsa…" she cooed. The princess had large blue eyes and fluffy, bleach-blonde hair that stuck out in every direction. She had ten fingers and ten toes, a tiny button nose, a small, bow-shaped mouth that was moving around silently, as if she were trying to talk, two perfect ears, and round little cheeks. Her arms flailed in the arms, searching for something solid. Freja held her thumb up to the tiny hand, and Elsa's fingers closed around it gently. Tears came once again to the queen's eyes. Everything in the whole world was wonderful and fresh and new. And Elsa was here!


	24. 10,000 Views! :D

**Hi, everyone! So, my story, Chronicles of Arendelle, just broke through with 10,000 views! I am so overjoyed that people have been reading, and thank you so much to all of you who have provided feedback on my writing. I never would have guess that so many people would read this. Grateful to all of you for being awesome as I write my first fanfiction ever!**

** Never stop being Frozen Freaks, my friends!**


	25. The Lost Princess- Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the delay! It's been a busy week, but I was able to do a bit of brainstorming, so I think it's for the best. Have fun reading!**

Slipping out the back door of the kitchens, Clyde Fitzherbert exited the castle, looking casually over his shoulder to make sure no one was tailing him. Donned in a perfectly pressed, if slightly large, soldier's uniform, Clyde had been delighted in how easily he had penetrated the security of the castle. Then again, this was in his blood. He knew exactly how and when to be invisible.

After learning of Queen Freja's newborn daughter, he had made his way nonchalantly out of the castle, eager to see the look on his son's face when his father arrived home, arms laden with food and fresh clothes and blankets. But now, as he walked down the hill toward the village, Clyde felt like his shoulder angels were having a brawl inside his head.

_ Knock it off. This is not the time to grow a conscience. It's just a job, and you need to money._

_ But what does Carney even want with the royals from Arendelle, anyways? Nothing good, to be sure. It wouldn't have anything to do with the baby, would it?_

Clyde felt a lump rising in his throat and tried to swallow. His mouth was dry. Stealing, raiding, things like that, he could handle. Leaking valuable information about the high-flying royal family to put bread on the table? He wouldn't lose any sleep over that. But endangering a child? He didn't know much about Freja, the Queen of Arendelle, anymore, but he remembered many years ago, when the two young princesses of Corona would accompany their parents in the annual kingdom parade. His memory of her was so innocent, so untarnished. She was just a girl. Clyde didn't know why, but he thought of Eugene in that instant. Suddenly, he wanted very much to protect that young woman. Not because she was a queen. He couldn't care less about that. But whatever Carney had planned, it definitely wouldn't help her. And then there was the baby to worry about…

That settled it. Carney would not get a word out of him. He didn't care about the money. He still had the one bag of money, insurance for his work. They would make it last as long as they could. As Clyde saw his small home looming in the distance, he quickened his pace, smiling to himself.

The door was open.

Why was the door open? Clyde's heart beat rapidly as he neared the house. Marta knew better. Maybe it was Eugene. Clyde tried desperately to stay calm. He was still in the soldier's uniform. He needed to change before he attracted any unwanted attention. Ducking inside the scantily furnished home, he glanced around. The kitchen was empty.

"Marta?" he called. Silence follow for a second as he shut the door behind him.

"Back here."

_Thank God_.

Clyde walked into the back room, then jumped backward in surprise. Carney was standing there, next to a smaller, darkly clad man he did not recognize. Marta was sitting on the floor in the corner. She was hemming up one of Eugene's shirts, but her eyes were not on her work. Instead, she followed the intruders with a frightened look on her face. It was all Clyde could do not to reach out and wrap his fingers around Carney's tree limb of a neck. How dare he come here like this!

"Carney," Clyde nodded curtly. His manners would be practically non-existent today, "Who's your friend?"

Carney didn't speak, but the stranger held out a hand in greeting, which Clyde ignored, "Please forgive the intrusion, Mr. Fitzherbert. My name is Alazair. Carney here is an… associate of mine. He saw speaking on my behalf before."

Clyde didn't know why, but Carney, who, under normal circumstances would seem large and intimidating, was dwarfed by this small man. It was as if Alazair's presence in the room outdid everything else, and Clyde didn't like it. He also doubted that his old acquaintance was a mere associate of the strange man. Alazair didn't seem like a type to have friends. Minions, maybe.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, gentlemen, but I gained no useful information today," Clyde stated, standing up tall, "and I'm quite positive that if I go back I will be caught. I'm not going to continue risking my family's future and end up in prison."

Carney crossed his arms, "What are you saying, exactly?"

"That I'm out of the deal. Sorry boys."

Gazing past the two men at his wife, Clyde felt sick to his stomach when he noticed how terrified she looked. Marta was not one to frighten easily, but she had never looked smaller or more vulnerable. And maybe she was right to be scared. Clyde hadn't thought about how Alazair and Carney would take to his new found integrity. Looking into Marta's eyes, Clyde tried as hard as he could to communicate with her, without using words, the one question that was plaguing his mind.

_Where was Eugene?_

Marta tilted her head, ever so slightly, reading his gaze. Then she understood, shook her head carefully, and nodded in the direction of the village. Clyde almost breathed easier. His son was out of harm's way. His attention turned back to the immediate threat.

"I'm sorry," Alazair was saying, his eyes cold and narrow, "But that's not an option."

"I told you I didn't learn anything, though! If I keep poking around, someone is bound to notice."

Alazair turned to Carney, whose eyes blazed. Clyde had never seen that look in them in the past, and he didn't like it. It looked like bloodlust. Alazair nodded. Before Clyde could blink, Carney's hand was clenched tightly around the back of Marta's neck, holding her up against the wall. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and a soft sob of terror escaped her as her attacker held up a jagged knife.

"No!" Clyde felt frozen, his pulse pounding like a drum in his head. Carney grinned as he pressed the cold flat of the knife against Marta's neck.

"You see," Alazair circled like a vulture, "I don't think you're telling the truth. I think you _did_ in fact learn some very valuable things today. And I think you're going to tell me. Now, before I have Carney slit your wife's beautiful throat."

"You son of a…" Clyde hissed, but Alazair cut him off.

"There's no point in threatening me, Mr. Fitzherbert. Tell me what I want to know."

"What on earth do you want with some snotty nosed royal baby? What did they ever do to you?"

Marta gasped as Carney applied pressure to the dagger. A tiny stream of blood ran down her pale neck, and Clyde felt like beheading both Carney and Alazair. But he felt completely and utterly useless. Any move he made toward Alazair would bring Carney's knife deeper into his wife's neck.

"Please, Mr. Fitzherbert, tell me now, has the Queen of Arendelle given birth? It's a simple enough question. Yes or no. But you had better make up your mind…"

Marta squeaked in pain as Carney twisted her arm behind her back hard. Tears streamed down her face.

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"She had the baby," Clyde said harshly, "It's a girl. She was born last night, right after the launch ceremony," he looked pleadingly at Alazair, "I swear that's all I know. Know, please, let her go."

Alazair lifted his eyebrows and Carney released the knife and shoved Marta into Clyde, almost knocking her over.

"Easy!" Clyde growled at him, but turned his attention toward his wife almost instantly. Her arm was badly bruised from Carney's grip. "Oh, Marta, I'm so sorry…"

Tears were in her eyes, but she nodded and buried her face in his chest.

"Now, you have what you want. Respectfully, get out of my house."

"Of course," said Alazair, heading toward the door. Then he turned back, his eyes glistening with evil. A darkness settled itself over Clyde.

"Then again," the miracle man spoke in eloquence, "We can't have you running off and warning anyone. After all, you two are the only link between us and the royal family."

"We won't say anything! Please!" Marta finally spoke, her voice on the edge of sobs. Clyde pulled her back behind him, searching the room for something to defend them. But, like most other rooms in the house, this one was empty, except for a could burnt up candlesticks that lay on the floor at Carney's feet.

Alazair turned to his henchman.

"Kill them."

* * *

Eugene skipped toward home. Or ran, more like. A bushel of apples was stuffed in his shirt, making it bulge out at strange, lumpy angles. He could see the house in the distance, dodging through the alleys and hopping over boxes. Eugene skidded to a stop, all of a sudden, his bare feet burning against the cobblestones. What was going on? His home was surrounded by soldiers, their glinting uniforms blinding his eyes. He pulled the apples from his shirt and stuffed them under an empty wooden box in the alley before venturing out, casually strutting through the ranks, up to the front door. An older soldier put a hand out to stop him.

"You can't go in there, lad."

"I live here."

A strange emotion filled the soldier's face, somewhere between pity and anger, and Eugene took a step back. Something was wrong, but the young boy didn't know what.

"Come on, son, this way," the soldier placed his hands firmly on Eugene's shoulders and steered him away from the house, where two bodies draped in white sheets were being lifted gently onto a wagon.

"Am I under arrest?" Eugene asked timidly.

The soldier smiled and shook his head. He lifted the six-year-old in his arms and carried him in the direction of the castle.

**Author's Note:**

**I wanted to put this at the end, so it wouldn't give anything away... This chapter was so hard to write! I didn't think it would be hard to kill off Eugene's parents when I first brought them in. I think this is the first time I've killed off a character that wasn't an antagonist (my stories are apparently very happy.) Oh, the things we sacrifice as writers! :)**


	26. The Lost Princess- Taken

Eugene had never been allowed very close to the castle. Much less, inside of it. As he walked beside the soldier that had led him here, holding his hand, Eugene took in the sights of the immensely high ceiling, the buttresses, the paintings, and the eloquently colored drapes, carpets, and furnishings. The little boy's eyes were wide. After living in a shanty, small house for his whole life, he pictured himself living in a castle of his own. He tilted his face up to see the soldier, who had told Eugene that his name was Hugo.

"Someday," Eugene whispered, "I'm going to live here."

Hugo chuckled, "Don't know about that, lad. This is just temporary, but don't you worry. We'll find you a place to stay soon enough."

They entered into a very large room, and Eugene's jaw dropped. Books! Books as far as he could see, all the way up to the ceiling, with long wooden ladders to climb, and a softly crackling fire in the fireplace. A young woman was sitting in an arm chair a ways away, rocking a sleeping baby. As Hugo approached her, he bowed slightly, and she smiled.

"Good morning," the woman said, her voice light.

"Morning, your highness," responded Hugo, "This is the boy," and he placed his hand on Eugene's shoulder.

"Ah, of course!"

The woman grinned down at him and shifted her body to place the sleeping baby in a bassinet next to the chair. Then she knelt down next to him and waved a small hand.

"Hello, there… What's your name?"

Eugene didn't speak. He didn't know why he was here. He wanted his own mother, not this woman, whoever she was.

"My name's Rosie."

Blank stares.

Rosie straightened up and motioned to the little boy.

"Here, darling, you can sit in this chair, if you want. There's a book there you might like. It has pictures!"

Eugene couldn't help himself. He had never read a book before! Clambering up onto the soft cushion, he sat down and lifted to book into his lap, briefly glancing over to see the baby. She was still sound asleep, her golden hair in soft waves around her head. Normal baby stuff.

Rosie turned to Hugo, bringing her voice down to a whisper.

"Do you know anything about him? Or his parents?"

"The neighbor found his parents' bodies. They both had had their throats cut. Terrible. They seemed pretty poor, judging by the state of their house. As for the boy, all I know is that he likes castles."

Rosie shook her head sadly, "Any word on the orphanage?"

"There's a bed opening up in ten days. Someone adopted a little girl. Until then, there's no place for him to go."

The queen straightened up. "Well, in that case, he can just stay here for a while."

Hugo smiled. "I thought you might say that. Thank you, your highness." Then he left.

Eugene looked up suddenly as the soldier exited the room, his lip quivering. He had quite liked Hugo. The woman, Rosie, came and stood next to him.

"So, would you like me to read that to you?"

Eugene thought about it for a minute. Then he nodded. Smiling, Rosie lifted him up, sat down, then placed the boy in her lap. Holding the book in front of them, she began to read.

"The Tales of Flynnigan Rider."

* * *

Freja awoke suddenly to Elsa's crying. She sat up straight in bed, feeling strangely light now that her body was, more or less, retreating back to its original shape. Beside her, Stellan moved and grunted, then propped himself up on his elbow and ran a hand over his eyes. Jumping out of her covers, Freja ran to the bassinet at the foot of the bed. Her head seemed to be pounding. _Elsa, Elsa, Elsa._

Reaching the small, padded crib, Freja gazed down as the crying stopped. Her daughter looked up at her with big blue eyes, her tiny lips moving frantically. The queen sighed. Elsa was okay. A week they had stayed in Corona, since she had given birth. And every day felt safer and more secure. She already could see Elsa growing, her eyes becoming more and more observant, and her facial expressions portraying everything from frustration to recognition. She was, in a word, incredible.

She felt Stellan wrap his arms around her waist and leaned into him, smiling in the dark as her pulse slowed.

"You see?" her husband said softly, "She's fine."

"I know," Freja grinning, holding his hand and kissing it, "I think she just needed to know that we were in the room."

Already, Elsa's eyes were drooping and she was slipping back into slumber.

Freja followed Stellan back to the bed, snuggling up against his side, relishing his warmth. As he began to snore lightly, she almost laughed. Everything was perfect, safe, and wonderful. And she had never felt so relieved.

* * *

Only a few hours passed before Freja was woken a second time. She hesitated to open her eyes. Elsa again. As much as she loved her daughter, this no sleep thing was definitely going to give her wrinkles. She heard Stellan snoring, along with Elsa fussing. A minute more, then she would actually wake up and go check on her. Listening to the tiny, soft wail, Freja couldn't help but smile. Then another sound caught her ear. A faint click. What was that? Yawning, Freja sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking toward Elsa's crib. Then her eyes widened.

"ELSA!"

The baby's crying came from the window. It was open, a dark figure silhouetted against the starlight.

Stellan startled from his sleep, automatically flailing for his sword, which was kept underneath the bed.

"ELSA! NO!" Freja was already running toward the cloaked figure. She felt the déjà vu set on her almost instantly, and her breath caught in her throat as she gasped, yelling over Elsa's crying.

"Please! Please, no!"

The figure dropped off the window ledge like a stone.

"NO!" Stellan shouted, running past her wife toward the ledge. But when he looked down, the courtyard below was empty. He turned back to Freja. She was gone, racing with every fiber in her body down the hall, her bare feet slapping the wood floors.

"Guards! Intruder! Help!" Stellan was yelling behind her, and Freja could hear him running after her. But everything had faded from her mind. She felt like she was back in that horrible nightmare as she sprinted down the passage, like her feet were carrying weights and her legs were limp and useless. Rosie's bed-head poked out of their bedroom as Freja neared it.

"Wha's wrong?" but as soon as her sister had spoken, Freja saw it in her eyes. She knew. The younger sister barely had time to glimpse Rosie sink to the floor, her head in her hands, before she was past, breaking out into the grand entry, then pushing her way out of the huge castle doors. Her heart was beating so loudly that it was the only thing Freja could hear. She didn't even realize that she was screaming.

"ELSA! ALAZAIR! PLEASE!" she sobbed, "DON'T TAKE HER!" A wave of anger rushed over her, and she screamed and yelled and cursed at the cool night air, "I'M GOING TO FIND YOU, ALAZAIR! YOU TOOK MY BABY AWAY! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"


End file.
